#if i only had this much passion to write my master thesis

[sygneth]

I am not even sure if I will be posting this (though, if you're reading this, I did), but, nevertheless, I have a few points about Jean that I have to make. He is no saint. He is an asshole and I’m not gonna pretend that he is not. But there is so much more to it. 

Let me start with the most obvious. He is said to have clinically diagnosed depression, with, apparently, no distinctive source, and, from what he says, we may assume he is under some sort of psychiatric supervision. 

He was diagnosed seven years ago. Diagnosed with depression, which probably means he’s been dealing with it for a good while longer, only at a certain moment he decided to seek help/had an attempt/any other circumstance that lead this man to get a diagnosis. He is now 34, seven years earlier he’d be 27. 

The reasons for such unspecified depression may be many, from some kind of a rare neurological defect causing one’s brain to be incapable of properly producing/transmitting/I’m-not-a-biologist-neither-is-English-my-first-language-so-I’m-not-gonna-dig-into-neurological-dysfunctions-further-but-you-get-the-point, serotonin, through a burnout, all the way to having other, undiagnosed disorders/illnesses as *checks Luiga’s tweets* Schizoid PD (I am not convinced that what Jean presents is a 100% textbook SPD example, rather SPD traits/behavior patterns? But I’m no specialist and even if I were, it’s hard to diagnose someone based on those few dialogue lines) and codependency tendencies. The doctors didn’t diagnose any other disorder, or at least he never mentions it, but looking at the world of Elysium, those disorders may not yet have been widely recognized, especially if not presenting themselves in the most typical ways/high-functioning. And Jean tends to be high functioning despite his issues. Yet, I assume that in Elysium, and Jamrock especially, the access and quality of psychological and psychiatric services are poor and probably limited. Not to mention education on the matter, which is probably low if not near none. (Just looking at how is alcoholism treated by *everyone* there, or the short mention of McCoy’s brother gives me a good 90’s/early 00s Eastern Europe vibe of mental issues/disabilities public awareness.)  Now, keep that in mind. 

Alright. Next up: a codependent, close relationship with an alcoholic. 

Jean’s relationship with Harry is an interesting one. I found this interesting research on codependency among spouses of alcoholics, that states codependency is related to, among others, SPD traits. (That’s an, uh, disclaimer? I was just curious how that two may coexist, but apparently, they do.) 

Back to the main thought. 

As someone who has been in a close, codependent relationship with a person who had problems with drinking, I can tell you something. It’s more than hard to get out of one. You see a person you care about do stupid, drunken, dangerous shit, you may be angry at them, you may be furious, yet you will still feel responsible for them in a way, and you will take that responsibility and try to get them out of the shit they got themselves into. I’ll say more, if that’s an actual relationship, you will feel social pressure that you are responsible for your partner’s behavior and you’re the one to take care of them. If it’s your work partner, then it’s highly probable you actually will be held responsible for their behavior, so you’re even more likely to clean up their mess. And when you help them out, because you care, because you feel like you should, because you don’t want to be “dicked” for it, maybe all of the above, they will be grateful and they will praise you and love you and even if you feel like this is not the right thing to do, you will do it again.

It takes a lot of work and self-awareness to get out of something like that healthily. And if you have some psychological knowledge, it also helps a lot, to understand how to deal with it. And the only way to do it, regardless healthy or not, is by setting boundaries. If you can healthily set them, and make the other person respect them, that’s very good. But if you have some other mental issues in addition to that, if you lack knowledge on how people’s behavior patterns work, on how exactly addictions work and that, you are maybe having some problems with generally understanding relationships between people, how and why they work, it’s very likely that you won’t be capable of setting those boundaries and enforce them to be respected. It’s very likely that one day, when something will happen and you will realize how toxic and unhealthy this relationship is for you, you will panic and you will start to do anything to get out of it, like a cat drowning in a well. That you will start acting cold, maybe even merciless from a certain perspective, maybe you won’t let yourself believe in their pleading and assurances of change, because you will know that letting yourself *feel* sympathy for the person you had this relationship with may lead to spiraling back into the wheel of codependency. Maybe you have already tried this, and letting yourself trust them only led you back to the point where you started and maybe this time, you don’t want it to end up this way.

And you know what? There is nothing wrong with trying to ensure your mental well-being. “Before approaching the casualty, always make sure the area is safe.” YES because if you’ll get hurt trying to help somebody, there will be one more person to help. The same applies to helping people get their life together. If you won’t have a good mindset to help them, if they will only drag you down, maybe the area isn’t safe? 

Moving on. 

Now, remember when I said that the level of social and psychological awareness seems very low in Elysium/Revachol/Jamrock? About that. 

You know what else I see, looking at the Harry-Jean-Dora-Kim situation? A bunch of people with self-awareness in terms of emotion, and emotional development of teenagers, but problems of grown-up people. And they are not to blame, the system is to blame. Harry seems to be very self-conscious and connected to his emotions, yet for six years he couldn’t find a healthy way to get over a heartbreak. He has tendencies to act violently, to randomly drunk-phone his ex to harass her (I mean come on, he was asking her if she is naked), not to mention a tone of other things. 

What happens here to Jean, is his situationship/best friend, whom yeah, he decided to ‘have a break’ with, immediately gets over it, and starts to go out with someone else. Taking, that this man has probably understanding of his emotions on a level of a high-schooler, he WILL be salty. He will be mad at Harry and he will be salty towards Kim when he sees them in Whirling. (Not to mention that it’s probably how they just roll in the precinct, and I’m quite sure that Harry’s and Jean’s relationship has been japing on and teasing each other, and as long as they both knew how it works, it was all good, compare: this post. So yes, Jean will be angry with Harry and he will act like an offended drama queen partially because that is just how their relationship dynamics probably looked like for the last two (at least!) years, and partially because he is an offended 16-year-old drama queen, whose bestie told her to fuck off and found a new (boy)friend. 

Is it good, that grown-up men have the emotional capabilities of high schoolers? No. Should we blame them, or the fact that their system seemingly doesn’t provide any prevention, doesn’t promote awareness, or offer any proper healthcare for that matter? I’ll leave that to you.

To add to all this, yes, the RCM’s fucked up system, hierarchy, and mentality don’t help. Yes, it would be better for both Harry and Jean and probably Kim too, taking for his PTSD, to get the fuck out of there and live peaceful lives. But you know, changing your whole lifestyle isn’t easy. Understanding that maybe it’s better to leave now and that it doesn’t mean you’ve “wasted” your years is a process, a long and hard one. I had to learn this. My close ones had to learn this. Some of them still didn’t, especially, that where I come from, there is this CEE culture of not letting yourself fail with peace of mind. You got to do everything the best you can, you gotta do it 120%, and if not, you’re a rotten piece of shit. Looking at how Harry treats himself, Revachol seems to have this in common with Central-Eastern Europe as well. 

Another thing, we don’t even know what Kim or Jean did before they joined the RCM, and Harry was a gym teacher. Thinking that it is easy to just switch your job in, again, a place with a CEE mentality, is a huge mistake. At the age of 40-odd years especially. In the 90s, especially. We don’t even know if Jean or Kim have any other education on their account, besides being cops, so changing professions would mean additional education, and for Harry, how many places, realistically, would take in a 45-year-old gym teacher?

I generally see that many people seem to forget/not understand how CE European mentality works, and it shows. I am glad that we live in a world where awareness of things such as homophobia, ableism, misogyny and else is common knowledge. But it wasn’t here, not even those 15 years ago. I remember people using names of dysfunctions and disabilities as slurs. Grown up people. I remember my classmates and my friend calling each other faggots or laughing at each other for not being gender-affirmative enough. Half of us turned out to be queer, and nobody had a problem with that, because in those times this kind of language wasn’t necessarily indicating someone’s worldview, it was just a bad habit, a very common one. I am more than happy, really, that we got rid of this kind of narrative and are more aware of the weight of a spoken word now. But when talking about past or settings that resemble this past, let’s please not forget that it DID look different and take that into consideration. Please. 

Remembering what we derived from and what a great progress as a society we did is important, as it shows the way we managed to walk, but also reminds us of what people had to deal with. And is a warning, because now we’re probably still all doing things that in 30 years will be so, so wrong. 

So concluding this ridiculously long consciousness stream, I love you, DE fandom. Now, I have an interview to watch (probably not anymore) and a comic page to draw (as always). I’ll leave you with this here.

[theblueflower05]

The Sweetest Sylaung

A/N: So I def didn’t mean to write a novel long Neteyam smut story but here we are. Debating on making this a mini series. Also the anon that requested a “curvy” reader insert- here ya go!(she’s also an Augustine- buttttt you can only see that if you squint lol)

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: This is smut. Pure smut. Please don’t read if it is not your jam. You are in charge of cultivating your own online experience, you’ve been warned!

Pairing: Aged Up! Neteyam x Human!Curvy!Reader

Summary: After an “accidental” romp in the forest, you do your best to avoid Neteyam. It’s for everyone’s good, or so you’ve convinced yourself.

“I’m begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans. That’s my man”- Willow, Taylor Swift

The kaleidoscope of colors explode under your eyes in endless patterns and shapes as you look over the sample of Pandora flora under the heavy duty microscope. This particular piece of the Moons terra had never been discovered before, only blooming at what you estimated to be every ten or so years, under the right monsoon like conditions

At least that’s what you had discovered so far.

The flower, which sprouted into a berry, and then dissipated into a moss like cluster of microorganisms all within its short life cycle had turned into your passion project. You we’re doing your thesis on it, the last step in getting your Masters.

You’d gone through schooling on a computer screen, guided by the greatest minds on Earth that had relocated to Pandora. Scientists of all fields who you’d grown up around. None of them had been surprised when you’d picked up botany. Xenobotany to be exact.

It was in your blood.

The desk your at shakes violently- disturbing your precision like focus. Breaking you straight out of your zone.

“Ugh” you groan, frustrated, raising your head, eyes narrowing at the culprits.

Spider, Lo’ak and Kiri freeze like deers in the headlights of your fury. Spiders arm raised, a wad of paper balled up in his hand, aimed to shoot. He lowers it slowly as the weight of your your heavy gaze zero’s in.

“Sorry, cu-”

“I told you guys, if you cant behave to get the fuck out” You seethe. Your nerves are paper thin anyway. Too much screen time frying your brain something fierce as you focused in on your studies. “Is that not what I said, verbatim?”

“You need to chill. You’ve been so high strung lately. Come hang out with us” Lo’ak suggests smooth and unhelpful. As usual. “When was the last time you left the lab?”

You roll your eyes and bite your tongue, trying not to say anything to scalding to the surprisingly sensitive Sully brother. “No thanks. I’ve gotta focus”

“Maybe Lo’aks right” Kiri starts, her face screwing up as she speaks “Eywa that sounds wrong. Nevermind, My brother is never right- but you should come hang out with us. Let’s go swimming- the watering hole is over flowing from the storms”

The deep sigh through your nose isn't calming, even though you pretend it is. You know they mean well, in the most annoying way. That you’d been buried in books and paperwork in the lab for the past couple months.

Hiding from the outside world within the thick walls of Hell’s Gate.

“Can’t. This is important, Kir- but why don’t you guys head down there? Its closer to Home Tree and its almost curfew anyway” two birds, one stone. Its a smart suggestion- but Kiri’s face falls, shoulders sagging and ears lowing. That look had always gotten you-

“I cant today, but maybe tomorrow? The samples are too fresh and I don't want to put them on ice…But I think Max made those Yovo cookie things” That’s only half of the truth, but luckily Kiri’s always been understanding.

She grabs your elbow in her long fingers and tugs you along.

The mess hall had seen better days, but the large open space still tends to be the meeting ground for the humans that were allowed to stay and inhabit the moon. With twelve foot tall ceilings and airtight exits and windows that lead out to the Avatar Program training yards. Its a common room of sorts, a place where everyone gathers. For meals, for mismatched Holidays. But mostly for gossip.

I mean, what else is there to do?

Like currently, you’re deeply engrossed in the story that Doctor Martinez’s, Xeno-Zoologist is recounting. All dramatics and dirty intimate details “It’s true, they’re gonna bring it before Mo’at and everything”

He’s talking about Trevino and Eital’i.

Everyone had heard the whispers, seen the not so subtle signs. The main Radio Tower operator had turned during the resistance, had fought beside Jake and had been allowed to stay on Pandora- better stuck on a foreign planet then thrown in a familiar jail cell. Trevino’s a cool guy, really.

A cool guy who had been sleeping with a Na’vi woman, apparently. The two had kept it under wraps, really private. No one could pin down how or when it happened,,,but to go to the clan’s Tsahik seeking a mating blessing? That’s major.

“You’re lying” you accuse in a gasp as the table breaks into whispers, all wide eyes and shaking heads. “They’re going to mate?...How?”

“It’s not like it hasn't happened before” Another scientist chimes in casually. Like it’s a known thing.

Which it kind of is.

Taboo, yes. But not unheard of, more like untalked about.

Humans and the Na’vi of the forest had lived in close quarters since the overthrow of the RDA. Jake, the standing Olo’eyktan, just had a little too much homosapien in him. Yeah, he’d survived the soul transfer and fully inhabited his blue body- but he never quite grew out of his human roots.

It had been hard, lots of politicking and good grace shown on both parts, but somehow, like all biomes in the vast perma green forest, all had learned to live in harmony. Most Omitikaya kept their distance. Very hesitant about the human presence. They had every right to be scared, hostile. Scarred by man and its weapons and its destruction.

Others had been raised in close proximity to Grace’s school. Had become accustomed to the nearly two decade long human presence on Pandora. Curious and accepting.

You’d heard about interspecies hookups.

Locker room talks that left your ears burning and your heart racing. It usually came from members of the Avatar Program- It tends to set a precedent, when the quote on quote “royal family” of the Omiticaya is a Jarhead and a native woman.

Na’vi are gorgeous, tall and lean but humanoid enough to be familiar…you’re not exactly sure what they see in humans but you know damn well what you guys see in them.

“How do you think that works? The…physicality of it all I mean. Trevino doesn't have an Avatar. How do they fuck-”

You’re not the only one zoning out from the conversation and it’s lewd turn.

You watch Kiri watch Spider and your heart aches for her. What they have is secret, delicate and forbidden. As a woman with high standing in the clan, you knew that her feelings for the boy wouldn't go anywhere. Couldn't.

When they we’re kids, it was cute. Now that they 're both technically adults, it was just plain stupid.

You tell her of the fact, often.

Kiri tells you to stop projecting.

———

The Sully Kid’s are always late. It’s like no matter how hard they try, they cant make curfew. You throw on an Exopack, hurrying them to the fence.

“Yeah, yeah okay mom. Take it easy” Lo’ak shrugs huffily as you yank hard on his arm. “I’m going, Y/N!”

“Not fast enough you strumbeast’s ass! You’re gonna get me into trouble, who do you think your dad’s gonna blame when you guys end up back at Home Tree super late again? Norm chewed me out for that shit last time!” You man handle the much taller than you alien.

Kiri and Spider a few leagues in front of you, already at the mouth of the giant fence. They’re awkward, not in their usual synched steps. You wonder how much of that conversation earlier had gone to their heads?

You’re bickering with Lo’ak, an extremely normal occurrence. He can be a real douche. and had been kind of insufferable lately. You think its nerves about his impending Iknamaya.

So engrossed with getting them on their way home that you don't even notice him until it’s too late.

Neteyam is a skilled hunter, through and through. The youngest in the clan to ever make a kill. Swift and quiet. Beloved.

But around you he feels out of his element. Clunky and awkward, no matter how hard he tries to play it off its like you can see right through him. Its scary and thrilling, sets his stomach alive with butterflies everytime. This is no different.

Showing up to Hell’s Gate to retrieve his siblings was something he had done since he was a child.

He’d used to bleed hours away playing with them at the scientists fortress, but as he had gotten older and his responsibilities had grown heavier- he had little time for it. Still, when ever his parents would send him out on a one man search party to bring them home, he’d jump at the chance.

At the hope of seeing you.

You’re arguing with his little brother, trying not to laugh at something he said and Neteyam knows. He knows he shouldn't feel jealous but he just cant help it. Cant help the acidic twist of his insides.

Especially when he chirps out his family's familiar call, letting his presence be known.

And watches that pretty smile fall right off of your face.

“You’re late, as usual” His voice has a stern edge. It’s annoying, the role he has to play. Kiri is a woman grown, Lo’ak just weeks away from being the same. He doesnt blame them for the way their feathers bristle, almost viscerally.

“Ah, big brother you didn't have to come all this way to get us” Kiri reassures, patting Neteyam on the chest good naturedly. “We we’re just about to be on our way”

Neteyam notices the way you try to look anywhere else but him. It stings because he cant stop looking at you, cant pry his eyes away from your form.

“You all should start heading back before dad notices” Neteyam starts. His father had been busy as of late, harvest season abundant and fruitful this year because of the heavy rain season “I’ll catch up, I need to speak with Norm”

“What? Dad cant use the coms now, he has to send his messenger” Lo’ak’s nose scrunches a little, always questioning. On a normal day it wouldn't affect Neteyam so much, just a normal jab from his snot nosed little brother.

Not today. Not when he’s stretched so thin. Not when you refuse to look at him but are staring at the side of Lo’ak fat head. It feels wrong, makes his skin heat up to the point that it feels itchy and tight.

“That's none of your concern. Head back to Home Tree. Now” He doesn't normally throw his weight around. But he feels the need to puff up big in front of you “Those are orders. Get out of here”

Lo’ak’s less offended and more surprised. One of his oh so human eyebrows cocks, a sly remark in his throat before he scoffs. “Aye, Aye Captain Kiss Ass. C’mon Kiri let's go. See you later Spider, Y/N”

He deuces up Spider, gives Y/N a pat on her small shoulder and glares harshly at his brother before he disappears into the thick brush of the jungle.

Kiri wraps her arms around you in a strong hug, muttering about ‘swimming’ and ‘promises’. The small impish smile she shoots Spider gives YOU butterflies so you don't blame the way he swoons, before she’s off behind her younger brother.

“I can go find Norm for you, bro. I think he’s still out in his Avv, but Max can radio him back in” Spider is none the wiser. Doesn't notice the heavy tension that simmers on a low bubble. Oblivious, as usual.

“Yeah, sure” Neteyam replies, barely sparing the human boy a glance. He’d feel bad for it later, when he could form coherent thought. When his brain wasn't on Y/N issued override.

Spider chatters, good natured. He never got to see the Olo’eyktan in training anymore. He missed his homie.

“Well, I should be heading back. You guys have a good rest of your night-” You’re already turning on your heels when you make the announcement, eager to get back inside. Back behind the safe walls of the lab- far away from Neteyam.

“No”

Neteyam who stares at you with all too knowing eyes. He looks straight through you like he can see through your clothes, through your thinly veiled escapism attempts. He reaches out, wraps his long fingers around the top of your arm and tugs you back to him. Gentle, but very firm.

He doesn't have to say it- it’s written all over his face. Not this time. He’s not going to let you run away from him.

“Netey-” You start in a whine, tugging on his hold. He doesnt relent, if anything his fingers tighten as his eyes narrow. Dangerous, desperate.

“Just talk to me” it’s a barely concealed plea, his tail twitches anxiously behind him “I'm just asking for five minutes. Please Y/N”

Spiders oblivious, yes. Stupid? No. He doesnt know exactly what's going on between the two of you but has clued into the fact that it’s heavy and he wants no part of it.

The excuse he makes is shit- he’ll just go find Norm. Yeah… he’s so out of there.

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss as you watch Spiders awkward, quick retreating form. Eyes flickering over the empty for now training yards “So much for keeping it lowkey, huh? Could you be anymore obvious?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Neteyam is almost shaking with disbelief “What the fuck is wrong with you? You havent talked to me in over a month. Everytime I make any kind of attempt you bolt. I dont-” He sighs, pinching the wide bridge of his nose with the hand that isnt holding onto you.

He looks tortured. Tired. Run a little ragged.

Beautiful.

“I don't know what I did? If this is about that day in the forest-”

You sigh at his words, once again pulling on his hold. Shaking your head desperately because you can't.

You can't talk about it. Fuck, you’ve been trying not to even think about it.

And failing as you replay the event over and over again the darkness of your bunk. Hyper fixating on the way that his lips had felt against yours. Oh the way that his big hands had worked your body over

“Don’t” you whisper “Please don’t”

You’d never been one to beg for pity, for mercy but that’s what you do now. Beg him to let you out of his tight clutches. Metaphorically and physically.

“You’re all I can think about” It's a gutted admittance, but Neteyam makes it all the same “That night- I can’t sleep. I can barely eat- I’m falling behind on my duties because I keep coming back here. Standing outside this fence and waiting for you. I know you could hear me over the coms, right?”

And you could, a few weeks or so ago.

When he’d begged you to come out. To come speak to him. His voice so appealing that you’d almost caved. You’d had to turn off your receiver. Had sat with your head in your hands for hours as you fought the urge to crawl to him, knees raw and your bloody heart on a platter only he could divulge in.

He shuffles closer, all lean strong muscle. Firm, unmovable. “You heard me”

“Of course I did”

“And you still left me out here” He scoffs, head shaking slightly as his adams apple bobs, his ears are pinned to the sides of his head in obvious distress “I could never do that shit to you.”

“One of us needs to be the adult in this situation” Your voice is as strong as you can make it. Trying to speak reason on to both of you “We can pretend it never happened and go back to the way that things were before. You’re my friend, Tey”

You reach up, stroking at his wrist. Trying to soften him enough for him to let this go. Let you go.

He’s trying to control his breathing, all that training for all of those years for what? One fragile human girl to make him completely unspool? To lose any and all composure he’d worked so hard to gain.

He was always the adult, in all situations. Had been born with a neck cramping crown on his head. Shrouded in pressurized glory.

“If this is me being childish, so be it. Where has pretending gotten you, huh? Look at you, yawntutsyìp. you look so tired. When was the last time you slept? Kiri says you spend days in the lab without resting”

His hands, both of them, come up to cup your face. Huge and calloused. Yet he holds you like you're something precious. A small animal, a rare gem. His whole entire world since he was just a boy.

Neteyam thumbs at the cool glass of your mask, tenderly. The bags under your eyes are sunken and bruised. “Don’t shut me out”

Your body, in its entirety, clenches at his words. Velvet and sincere. He’s a fucking dream. Your head leans into his hands, neck sagging of its own accord as any and all words of protest leave your weak mind.

He makes you so easy.

“Let me in…I dont want there to be this distance between us anymore” He hisses around the word distance. Hating even having to say it “I want to be inside of you again”

Your plump lower lip gets skewered between your teeth, eyes screwed shut as you remember the last time. Your first ever time being full…you’d dreamt of it every night since it had happened.

If it wasn't for the blasted mask and your need for Earth’s oxygen he’d kiss you. Right here right now. He didn't really give a shit who saw or what they had to say.

Instead pulls you into his chest, lets you wind your arms around his lean middle and bury your chest in his diaphragm. Its as close as he can get you, for now. Makes you cling to him the way that he’d clung to every thought of you for the last weeks.

You wish it was lungfuls of his skin that you were taking as you try to bring yourself down from this abrupt shaky high. You dont get it, how your relationship couldve flipped this hard in such a short time.

He had always just been Neteyam. A shameless flirt yes- but that’s all it was.

“Would you like that?” He questions, hands working through your hair. Fingers light and soothing on your scalp. Massaging the thoughts right out of your head.

“Hmm?”

“If I was inside you again?” He presses on. You can feel the tickle of his long, thin, tail as it wraps around the back of your calf and you groan, digging your nails into his back.

“You’re such an asshole. Stoppppp it” You’re embarrassed and turned on and already feel stupid enough, he doesn't need to rub it in. His chest shakes as he chuckles.

“I’m serious. Tell me you want it-”

“Neteyam! Hey!”

The two of you break apart in an instant. You jump away from him as though struck by lightning. Instantly putting enough distance between you and the Na’vi that maybe, just maybe an onlooker might think that the embrace was friendly.

It’s Norm, having heard that the eldest Sully was looking for him he’d come eagerly.

The smile you plaster on is forced and honestly, Neteyam doesnt fair any better. He’s obviously flustered, just glad that his erection isn't tenting his tweng.

“Spider told me you and your dad are looking for me. I’m not intruding on uh anything, am I?” Norm looks between the two of you.

Your arms are folded tightly over your chest and Neteyam is rubbing at the back of his neck, strong jaw flexing as his teeth grind.

Oh yeah, Norm had definitely interrupted something.

Knows for sure as you scurry away. As Neteyam, always so level headed, has to string together words. Stumbling a little bit as he tries to remember the message that Jake had relayed.

It’s not any of his business, he thinks at the time. He sure didnt want to be the one to shine the light on whatever the hell was going on here. Turning a blind eye to the mysteries of Pandora is the only way to survive the harshest terrain known to man.

———

You dont know that though-

No, you’re spiraling more a little bit as you prepare yourself for bed. Brushing through your thick hair and staring out into space as your mind assaults you with all of the gnarly ‘What If’s’

Norm had seen and he had to know right? Oh god, what if he told Jake?

You balk. Lowering the brush as your eyes bulge out of your head.

What if he told Neytiri?

That's actually a super horrific thought. Like nightmarish. You have a lot of respect for the future Tsahik...

…And a very healthy does of fear. She didnt like humans and made it known. She tolerated them only for her husband's benefit. What if she found out that her eldest son, her golden boy, had fucked one?

You’re freak out is interrupted by static, by the beeping of your com receiver on your night stand.

“Y/N?” its Neteyams muffled voice through the device. You’d ignored it once. You should ignore it again…

“Yeah?” you wonder if he picks up on how shaky you sound through the receiver.

“Tomorrow night meet me at the East Gate. Like when we we’re kids” he’s not really asking. Not demanding either. You could ignore him again, but he has to try.

The line goes silent, quiet for minutes on end.

“Y/N?”

You’re so stupid. “What time?”

You can hear the grin he’s sporting as he replies “0100”

“Got it, over. Good night, Neteyam. Go to sleep”

———

The East Bay is on the other side of the large fortress-like building. It's not that it's forbidden, or anything. but it is deserted. It’s where the military personnel had inhabited, and since most if not all of them had gotten the hard boot off Pandora it was empty as a ghost town in these maze like halls.

When you we’re younger; you’d caught Spider sneaking Kiri and Lo’ak in through the rarely used entrance. You’d demanded the know how, if he didnt want you to rat on him for it. It was a rare occurrence, but the Sully children had all been snuck into Hell’s Gate this way over the years.

You type in the codes, disabling the alarm system in order to usher Neteyam into the pressurized, air lock. You’d toted one of the Avatar Exopacks along for him, they’re heavier then hell but he’d need it.

“Hi” you smile, suddenly shy as the tall Na’vi man stands before you.

That's what he was now. A man, not only in the eyes of his people but as a whole. Broad and muscular, strong. Verile. The next leader of his people. You know that he’s highly desired in his clan. Women fawn over him. Vie for his attention.

It doesnt feel real that he wants to give it to you.

You’re nothing special. Not tall and stunning like the Omaticaya women. Even by Earth’s standards you're short, curvy. Not particularly pretty. Insecurity gnaws at you, as it so often does.

“C’mere” Neteyam urges, boldly yanking you by your waist. Pulling you flush against his body. Grabby and insistent, he wants to feel your bare skin. All plush and soft, hes been dying to taste it since the last time.

Kicking himself over and over for not savoring every bit of your body that you gave to him. He won't make the same mistake again.

He’s not gonna lie, the concrete and metal of the walls inside of Hell’s Gate have always made him a little claustrophobic. But he can't do this outside-

His lips capture yours, demanding and needy from the jump. Big, over powering, he swallows your little chirp of surprise. Devours any and all breath from your lungs. Its messy and so good. You hadn't gotten to kiss him last time.

His mouth tastes amazing, his tongue rough in texture just like you remembered. It grates your lips as you suck on it-

“Hey, slow down a little bit” You giggle as Neteyam paws at your ass, lifting you off the ground until you squirm hard, making him release you “Not here, we can't do this here there’s cameras everywhere”

“I don't care” Neteyam pecks all over your face, trying to recapture your mouth as you avoid him “Let them watch, most of those pervs would like it”

And they would know that you’re his. The thought is beyond heady.

You gasp as his sharp canines ghost over the delicate skin of your neck, nibbling on your pulse point “Please- Neteyam”

You firmly push him away, hand on his chest and maybe if you hadn't cut him off cold turkey he would've given you space. Could've pulled away for a moment to let you say your piece. Instead the idea of letting you pull away even an inch is unbearable to him.

No. instead he tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He hauls loads heavier then you every day, your protests mean little to him. With his free hand he scoops up the Avv Exo Tank,

“Where to, yawntutsyìp?”

Where too is an old conference room. Its as good as any, and Neteyam yanks a couple cushions off the old couch to act as a brace for your head as he lowers you to the floor, flat on your back.

You’re so pretty like this, he tells you of the fact.

With your hair a mess behind you, your face free of that damned mask. Grinning up at him as you rub your thighs together. He wishes he had that camera that his dad liked to take pictures on. He wants this moment of you framed, immortalized.

“I hate sky people clothes” He mutters as he tugs on the hem of your t-shirt. It hides you, hides all that skin he craves.

“You want me to take it off?” You offer eagerly, raising up enough to start peeling the piece of clothing off. You’re bare underneath, completely. Your breasts jiggle as they’re freed, nipples peaked in the cool air-conditioned air.

“Don’t ever put it on again” He demands, taking it from your hands and tossing it across the room. He’s dead serious, but by the way you're giggling you obviously think its a joke.

He can’t help it, he dives in face first. Rubbing against your soft breasts, obsessed with the way they feel. Heavy, pillowy. He drags his tongue across all of your bare skin. From your clavicle to your nipple. You always smell so pretty, but its got nothing on the way you taste. It explodes bright and savory on his tastebuds.

You let him explore, until your spit soaked and shaking. Your panties sticky as your hips search for any kind of friction. “I need you”

“You have me, my love. All of me” your eyes water at his words. At the sincerity. At how much you want them to be true.

You grab one of his hands and drag it down your chest. Past your soft, rounded belly and into your shorts. He grunts as you guide him to where you’re wet and pulsing. Rythmetically clenching around nothing.

He circles your clit, feather light. More of a tease then anything and you want to sob. You’d thought of nothing but this, touched yourself imagining him. “Tey-”

He smiles around a mouthful of nipple,tugging on with his teeth. “I missed you so much”

“Then be nice to me” you plead, trying to shove yourself down on his fingers.

“We’re being nice now? Were you nice to me when you ignored me?” he can't help it, hurt bleeds into his voice. It had been so fucking painful, knowing that you hadnt wanted to see him. To be with him.

“I’m sorry” you whine, grabbing his face, pulling it from your bosom. “I’m so sorry. I was so scared- I’m still scared but I need you”

He lets you cup his cheeks, lets you plant kisses all over him. The bridge of his nose, his eyelids, his cheekbones. You dote on him, gentle and caring and he gorges himself on your love.

“You cant ever do that again, okay?” He shivers as you kiss his ear, running your tongue along the hyper sensitive flesh “If you’re scared you come to me, not run from me. Do you understand?”

You nod, eager. “I promise, Neteyam”

It’s all he needs to hear, that you’re his. That you won't deprive him of your presence ever again. He doesn't know what he’ll do. He’s a little scared of the man he becomes when it comes to you, you’re not the only one frightened by the gravity of your feelings.

“You asked if I wanted you inside me again? Yes. So much. I never knew I could be that full” it’s like you know just what to say. You light him up from the inside. His fingers begin circling your sopping clit again, this time with intent.

It’s blurry, the fact that your lightheaded making it hard to think. To track what he’s doing to you because somehow Neteyam seems to be everywhere at once. His big body all encompassing as he takes you.

“No-no marks, baby” You try to remind him and his blazing eyes zero in on you in a glare “you know we cant…not where they can see”

You’re right, and he hates it. He’ll just have to mark you where only you can see. Where you can look at your self and be reminded that you belong to someone. That you belong to him.

He doesn't have the patience, cant stop his hands from shaking- the tear of your shorts and panties echos around the room as he removes any barriers between him and the heat at the apex of your thighs.

You cant help the thrill it sends down your spine. He’d…ripped your panties off. You thought shit like this only existed in bad Earth made Porn that you’d found on one of the labs computers.

“Sorry, sorry” his apology is far from sincere though and you can't help but giggle, patting his braids fondly.

The fingerfucking is rough, your wines and moans spilling from you as he hits spots inside of you that make you want to curl up. It’s too good. Too much-

You screech, back bowing as he bends to kiss you, loud and sloppy, right on your wet clit. His big head burrows between your thigs as he delves on your cunt, his long rough textured tongue lapping at the fat puffy lips. The texture difference has both of you groaning.

It’s heartbreakingly good, the kind of good that you’ll never be able to forget. That you’ll crave and need for the rest of your life. Addictive, as he dedicates himself to making you feel pleasure.

Neteyam eats pussy the same way he does everything else in his life, exceeding any expectations. His instincts sharp as he hones in on how to make you lose your mind.

He keeps telling you how good you taste, breaking away for heaving breaths before he reburries himself. The only sounds in the room are the beyond wet sloshing of his tongue lashing and the pathetic noises your making.

He’s eating you alive, you don’t know how you’re supposed to survive this.

His fingers, two and then three fuck in and out of you. Corkscrewing as he loosens your tightness up for him.

“O-ooh” you whine high and reedy as you feel your tummy tightening, the pressure building in a way that makes you feel like you cant breathe. You cant your hips, shoving them down at that perfect angle “Oh, sh-shhhhit. I’m gonna, I’m-”

He doubles down and you’re a goner.

The orgasm is devastating. Sofuckinggood you think you might see stars for a minute there. You can't even scream, you keep letting out these little cries that are more like wheezes. A desprate attempt to get some kind of air back in your lungs-

Which reminds you.

Even though you’re in a daze you wiggle away from him, he hisses at you about it but you swat the top of his head as you reach for the Exo Pack.

You shove the mask in his face, between your legs.

”Breathe, Neteyam” you demand him to gulp down the Pandoran air. Yeah, he could go longer in your environment than you in his but still. Death by giving head isn’t the way you’d like him to go out.

He takes long breaths and you try not to be embarrassed by how soaked his chin is.

When he pulls away his eyes are a little more focused “Thank you, sweet girl. Always thinking about me, huh?”

You nod, dropping the mask. Closer this time for easier access. His eyes quickly zero back in on your swollen pussy, on how wet he got you. On how pretty it looks. His mouth is watering all over again-

When you try to close your thighs, the burning of your cheeks getting to be too much he hisses again. It’s not a sound he often makes and it’s a revelation, he’s so sexy. Almost feral.

“Who said I’m done?”

You’re never going to be able to get over this man “I already came?...”

“Yes? So?” he rolls his eyes, lowering his head, nuzzling at the damp juncture of your inner thigh “You’re still so tight, here feel”

His fingers slip back in you and you mewl, baring down as he scissors the long digits.

“We have to get you loose enough to take me, I don’t want to hurt you” He explains it like you need convincing. Like he has to convince you to let him eat you out. You just re-spread your thighs, relaxing back onto the cool floor as you let him do as he pleases.

It takes two more orgasms that you scream and shake through until he deems that you’re ready. By the time that he begins to slide his cock into you you’re a blubbering, oversensitive mess. You’re crying rivers of tears as you cling to him.

“Hold my hand? Please ” You request and he smiles, kissing your tear streaked cheek as he interlaces his longer fingers with yours.

Humans and Na’vi can fuck, but we’rnt designed to. His dick is overwhelimgly big and will really injure you if the two of you aren't careful about this.

You both gasp sharply as his tip breaches you.

It hurts, it’s agonizing. It’s the kind of pleasure pain that you didnt even know could exist. Everytime you think you can adjust, he pushes in another inch. But oh, how you missed it. Being so full it feels like you’re going to burst. You’re pussy flutters as it fights to take him and you focus in on his face.

It’s all scrunched up in heavy concentration. His lips speared between his sharp teeth in a way that has them almost bleeding.

You can't have that. You tug him into a kiss, soothing the abused flesh with your tongue.

“I-I dont want to hurt you” He whimpers as his forehead rests against yours.

“It’s okay, you’re okay” You hum to him, grasping at his hand even tighter “I love what you do to me. I love how you feel”

When he bottoms out you think he must be in your ribs. Hes still, letting your body get used to him. Trying to be kind. You want to tell him that there’s no getting used to his size. That he could fuck you every day for the rest of your lives and he would still feel just as massive.

“Please” you wail instead “please”

The first gentle snap of his pelvis has you both reeling. Your thighs lock around his thin hips, urging him. You can take it. It only takes a little urging for him to lose himself. The harsh stretch of it has you shaking as your over sensitive pussy tightens. You’re coming again, less intense the the previous orgasms, thankfully.

Neteyam had been so focused on making you feel good that he’d neglected his hard, weeping cock. His balls are so full that he knows he’s not going to be able to draw this out.

You know you have to look stupid, mouth hanging open as you raggedly gasp for breath, letting out punched out sounds as Neteyam pounds into you. You cant look away from his face though.

It’s mesmerizing, all of it. The sounds he lets out. The way that his braids sway with the rhythm of his pleasure seeking body. His broad shoulders, bulging biceps and forearms- you are so fucked.

You’re so in love.

“Please Y/N” He wheezes as you squeeze around him, letting go of your hand so he can wrap both of his arms around your lower back “I can’t hold it. W-where should I?”

Oh. Oh, he’s the sweetest man. He always has been.

You peck his lips, not minding that he’s too lost in his own pleasure to really kiss you back

“Come inside me. Come inside me. Come inside me” it’s a heated chant, broken and breathy by the erratic rhythm of his hips and he buries his head in your neck, wailing in the skin there.

Just for a moment, lost in the haze of sex, you can tell he forgets his own strength. Thrusts into you so hard that you scream out in pain, the mushroom tip of his long cock batters your cervix relentlessly. Its a sharp, startling sensation that you’ve never known but you ride it out for him. Desperately trying to keep your whimpers of discomfort at bay.

When he comes, his whole body goes still and ram rod straight. He hugs you tightly to him. You wish you could see his face. Next time, hopefully.

He’s Neteyam, the mighty warrior. The dutiful son. The next clan leader but as he shakes and twitches and basks in the afterglow you can't help but want to baby him. But stroke his back softly, rubbing the residual tension out of his tired muscles.

He’s your big ol’ pussy cat, you’d always teased. He purrs like one every time you’re affectionate with him.

You can’t help but run your hands along his sensitive spine. Let the length of his tail run through the loop of your fingers. He grins and flicks it from side to side. He’d always thought your fascination with it was amusing.

“Are you okay?” he mutters, still hidden in your hair as he starts to come back to himself and you hum, moving up to pat his braids.

“Mmhmm” you’re maybe not as capable of making words as you though you were. He chuckles and hugs you. Holds you in his big arms in a way that makes you feel untouchable.

The two of you lie in that room for as long as you can, until he has to start heading back to Home Tree, it’s almost morning and his parents are early risers. They’ll look for him if hes not in his tent…

It's hard. Letting him go. Even though you know he’ll be back. You keep pulling him back in for kisses, holding onto his muscular arms until he laughs and peels you off of him.

“I’ll be back my love. I’ll always return for you”

You frown but agree, pushing him away to get re-dressed- “How am I supposed to go back like this! Neteyam I don't have any pants!”

He’d shredded your shorts and panties. Literal tatters of cloth are all that’s left.

Neteyam cracks up, almost keeling over. Thinking he’s oh so funny. It lightens the situation and makes letting him go- watching him disappear back in the forest a little easier.

You end up having to pull your fortunately oversized t-shirt down as far as it can go as you make a mad dash across the facility, back to your dorm. You fall asleep grinning, thinking about how the panties had been a necessary sacrifice.

———

Norms on late night watch, keeping a bored, admittedly not sharp enough eye on the security camera’s feeds. With the rainy season, came an influx of Slinths’. It made sense to have a lookout, and somehow he’d gotten saddled with an overnight shift.

He’d definitely fallen asleep for a few hours. Not that he’d tell anyone of that fact.

There is nothing that could prepare him for what he see’s on the screen, over in the desolate East Bay. First, he thinks that he’s hallucinating, his sleep bogged eyes playing tricks on him.

He rubs them hard with his knuckles, not believing the image that is large and clear on the security footage.

It’s Neteyam. Inside the facility which almost never happened. And he’s bending down, his lips locked with Y/N’s . Kissing her hard and long before she punch’s in the code, and opens the air locked door to let him back out into the shadowy eclipse.

Norm’s learned a lot living on this strange moon- Pandora was mysterious. Full of things his brilliant mind would never understand. So he does what he does’ most of the time.

Minds his own business.

So I’ve had this idea cooking for months, but didn’t have the bandwidth to get it written down. The ideas wouldn’t translate to page and I still kind of feel like they didn’t butttttt whatever. This is pure self indulgence. I am so much more in love with Neteyam now. He is SUCH a good guy. Ugh.

Also, please remember that my requests are OPEN! Send in all that good shit. Come blue alien brain rot with me!

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

How my love for Warrior Nun ended up getting me a published novel

So like many of us, i am a huge fan of Warrior Nun. Like a somewhat smaller number of us, I am a big Doctor Superion shipper. Can't be helped. Mature ladies getting it together is my jam. I have written fic about them and of course a lot of Avatrice and Lilshotgun.

Anyway, I saw this picture of Thekla Reuten and

I thought "oooo, detective!"

Not long after, I encountered this photo of Sylvia Defanti:

And I thought, "ooo, detective wife! Wait no! DETECTIVE EX-WIFE!"

And then I thought, what if ART Detectives?? Picture them chasing an art thief around Europe while bickering and lowkey sniping at each other and falling back in love despite themselves and their whole opposites-attract yin/yang thing?

Plus, you know, Europe:

The more I thought about the idea, though, the more I realized I needed to change the characters too much for it to work as a fic. So because I was writing a lot of screenplays at the time, I wrote it as a screenplay. Let me tell you about these women...

Fleur van Beekhof

So yeah, you can see the shades of Jillian, obviously: cool, pragmatic, strategic and unflappable on the outside. Inside, a total disaster: heartbroken, career stagnating, struggling with a gambling addiction and still not over her ex-wife,

Renata Cellini

Renata quit the bureau after their divorce and went to manage a friend's art gallery in Bologna. She's passionate, sometimes harsh, wears everything out on her sleeve and is 100% in it for the drama, leaping into danger and looking annoyingly hot while doing so. She's Fleur's sole choice for all 3 options of "f*ck marry kill."

The only thing that could bring her back to the bureau is the "Fabulous Gustave," the one thief who got away from them, whose escape precipitated Fleur's gambling problem and the unraveling of their marriage.

What's more, he stole a painting by her favorite painter, the one she did her Master's thesis on: "Susanna and the Elders," by Artemisia Gentileschi.

(Artemisia btw was a badass, a baroque master not fully recognized in her day. She painted women like nobody else... with fury and agency. "Yo check out the head of the Assyrian general who was creeping on me, I just saved my people, you're welcome."

Anyway, ahem.)

So I had this movie written. The thing about movies, is they take forever to get made, if they do at all. And I adore these women and this story too much, so I adapted it into a novel, and on a hail-mary pass, sent it to one of the bigger sapphic publishers I knew of.

THEY SAID YES.

Look! In all its pre-orderable glory!

The women of Warrior Nun have been and continue to be an inexhaustible fountain of inspiration.

And also, if you feel like it, please support my novel.

[renlyslittlerose]

Last week was the one year anniversary of me posting my first obikin fic, and over the last year being a part of the fandom has brought me so much joy and happiness and enthusiasm once again. Some of you knew me before 2019 and were aware that I was working on my Masters in the Classics, which included a massive thesis. While working on the thesis I was also working part-time at the museum, as well as battling a few chronic illnesses - some of which still affect me today - all of which drained me physically and emotionally. When I had finished my thesis and graduated from the program I was well and truly burnt out. 

 2020 was rough for everyone, and I was contented to just exist without doing much of anything that could be seen as creatively productive. But then 2020 came and passed and I thought maybe I should get back on the saddle, and started working on my own original story. I fell off of social media, didn’t interact in fandom, and tried to grind out a story that wasn’t working like I had hoped it would. 2021 and I still wasn’t ‘feeling it’; I had gone from writing about 1-2k words a day to 500 words a week - if I was lucky. A part of me wondered if I was tapped out for good, that I didn’t have it in me anymore, and that my thesis was my last creative outlet - my last hooray.  I know it sounds a bit dramatic, but when you go from creating almost every day since you were sixteen years old, to suddenly believe that the well has run dry is terrifying. Maybe I was done for good - maybe I wouldn’t create something I was proud of.

And then Kenobi came out. I was a massive prequels fan since I was nine years old and the Phantom Menace came out, and an even bigger Darth Vader fan, but I had never interacted with the fandom in any meaningful way. I was contented to just watch the films and the shows and leave it at that. But as I was watching I had the epiphany that Obi-Wan and Anakin were actually ~roommates all along. I started reading obikin fic, came back on tumblr to see what sort of fandom there was, and suddenly found myself with ideas again, and a desire to create something. 

So I wrote my first fic ‘Sacred to the Gods’ based off of a thesis I wrote during my undergrad about the psychology of a Greek demigod. It took me about a week to write, but in that time I had a lot of fun - the words started to come more easily, the vibes were there, and the passion was slowly but surely returning. One fic turned into another, and then another, and suddenly I had written two multi-chaptered long-form fics, some shorter multi-chaptered ones, and a bunch of oneshots, all about our favourite duo. 

And in the that span of time, not only was I able to rediscover my passion for writing and feel inspired again, but I met so many amazing, incredible, kind, passionate, creative people who welcomed me with open arms. I was used to fandom being sort of a gate-keepy thing, where if you were the new kid in town it would take you a while to work your way into any circles. But it didn’t happen with this fandom. I went up to a few people, held out my macaroni art, and was overjoyed to see them take it and immediately put it up on their fridge.

There are a lot of people I want to thank, and I should thank, from those who read my stuff, those who send me asks on tumblr, those who bookmark and kudos and comment, and those who followed me, but there isn’t any space to do all that. So I hope that a general ‘THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU’ will suffice. Thank you for giving me my passion back, thank you for supporting me, thank you for being an awesome community that has it’s issues, but still cares deeply about the art they’re creating, and who care about fostering a community. 

However, there are a few people I would specifically like to address, because I don’t think this post would be complete without you. I’ll put it behind a cut because this post is already cumbersome:

@bi-wan || My beloved! You were the first person to follow me on tumblr after reading one of my fanfictions, and the first to reach out to me to be my friend. Thank you for reaching your hand out to me and dragging me into the fold. Because of you I’ve made so many good friends who I treasure dearly - including you. 🥰

@ragnarlothcat || I feel like you and Cam are a packaged deal, and so I thank you for being curious about me and checking out my work, and for allowing me to occupy both you and Cam’s comfy little raccoon haven. You’re so supportive, and your work was some of the first I read in the fandom which truly secured my desire to be a part of it. Thank you 💖

@intermundia || I’ve told you this before, but you were the first person I approached in the fandom when I decided I wanted to dip my toes into the experience, and your warmth and welcoming nature secured my desires to be a part of this group. The fact that you support my stories and are so passionate about it really fuels my desires to keep creating (as well as feeding my ego). Thank you for being such a good presence in the fandom.👑

@theseptemberist || I have a feeling that Will told you about me, and I am so glad that he did because we’ve struck up such a friendship that I can’t see myself without. Our chats on discord over the past few months have been wonderful in so many ways that are too innumerous to say here. Thank you for sharing your heart, and for being so kind and empathetic. And thank you for sharing your encyclopedic knowledge of fandom tea ☕

@unspuncreature || Just like Rag and Cam come as a team, you and Cal (and Wren, even though I’ve never spoken to her but feel like I know her) are the trio that delight and entertain. Thank you for your brilliant art and creativity, thank you for letting me bounce all my ideas off of you, and thank you for collaborating with me. You’re brilliant 💗

@kyberkenobi || Beyond the fact that your filthy brain inspires me and delights me, and the fact that you’re willing to goed me on when I come up with something that’s delightfully nasty, your maturity when it comes to fandom is refreshing. At the threat of sounding like a proud grandma, you’re still so young and yet you’ve got a lot of shit figured out - most importantly, that fandom is supposed to be for fun and write what you want to write. Can’t wait for us to finally collaborate one of these days 💕

@dininginspace || What can I say? You’re a delight, you’re incredibly funny, you’re kind and understanding, and you’re the best cheerleader a loser like me could ask for. The fact that you jumped on the Buffy bandwagon when I drove by on it secures you as one of my favourite people. Thank you so much for your early and continued support 🧛‍♂️

@nuandia || Thank you for chatting with me all the time; keep up your writing, it’s brilliant and worth it, even if you doubt it sometimes. 💖

@grapenehifics || I had just finished watching MASH when you commented on Moonlight Serenade. The noise I made when I saw your username, followed by the continued joy I get whenever I see you on my dash or in my inbox, or when I see you’ve posted something new for the world to enjoy. 🧡

@palfriendpatine66 || You’re a delight. You’ve got things figured out, and how you can write so much with the life you’ve got is incredible. Keep going - you’re a gem. 💎

@binaryeclipse || Love chatting with you on discord, and being able to throw out random things about Canada into the chat that doesn’t need explaining - you just get it. Especially when it comes to Alberta politics. It doesn’t always feel like a safe space out there when you’re an Albertan who loves her province but also hates so many things about it, but you make me feel as if I can be a contradictory mess and still feel as if I belong in Canada. Your muse will come back soon, I trust in this ✨

@treescape || Your work is sublime and an inspiration. I read your fics first when I went hunting for things to read, and was immediately captivated. When you followed me back and weren’t at all weirded out by me bounding over to you like an excitable golden retriever, I was very grateful - I am very grateful. Can’t wait to see what you create next. 💛

@starsdies || Thank you for listening to me; thank you for being so inspiring; thank you for helping with community events and exchanges. And thank you for streaming The Last of Us for me because I’m too cheap to buy HBO Max. 🙏

@tessiete || You fact-checked the details I put into Moonlight and all I can say is THANK YOU. Sometimes I feel like I’m getting too lost in the details, but its people like you who google that shit that makes me feel good about my obsessions. 🌸

[thestrangeillusion]

a get to know you better meme

Ahhh this took me more than a month to get around to doing, but I didn’t forget about it!! Thank you so much for tagging me @dummerjan! <3 <3 <3

do you make your bed? No, I don’t really see the point tbh, I’ll only be messing it up in the evening again anyway.

what's your favourite number? Umm, 7 I think? There’s not a particular reason for it though. I do have a soft spot for 21 as well for entirely SKAM related reasons haha.

what is your job? I do scientific evaluations of (primarily) government programmes.  

If you could go back to school would you? Hmm, there’s some appeal to that because I didn’t hate school and the structure and routine of it was mostly good for me, I think. But the thought of being a teenager again and being cooped up in a room with 25+ other teenagers for a minimum of 30 hours a week – no, thank you. But if school is meant in the way US-Americans sometimes use it, as in also meaning further education, then I could be convinced. I mean, I still have to write my master’s thesis, so I’m technically still a student, but I sometimes think re-doing my first couple of years of undergrad (and maybe making some better decisions lol) could be fun.

can you parallel park? Nope, I can’t even really drive anymore, I’m pretty sure, even though I do have a licence. It’s more of a glorified ID at this point because I haven’t actually driven a car in like 4 years or so and even before that I honestly wasn’t very good at it (driving or parking).

a job you had that would surprise people? Not really tbh.

do you think aliens are real? I mean I am pretty sure there are forms of life on other planets, since some of them have been found to have inhabitable environments. If it’s intelligent life I don’t really feel qualified to say although, if I remember correctly, one of my good friends who’s doing a PhD in astrophysics and is one of the smartest people I know once made a pretty convincing argument for it (but I have since forgotten what the argument was lol).

can you drive a manual car? Refer to the question about parallel parking above. I learned to drive in a manual car (I’ve actually never driven an automatic), but I’m fairly sure I don’t actually know how to do it anymore.

what's your guilty pleasure? That’s a difficult question. Reading fucked up smut fics is definitely one of them, I guess. Also does pissing away many of my weekends by staying in bed all day and reading or writing fanfics instead of putting effort into having a social life count? Because I also do that and I do enjoy it, but it’s painful whenever anyone asks what I did on the weekend lol. There’s only so many times you can say “Nothing much” tbh.

tattoos? I like them on other people, mostly. My cousin has a full back tattoo in colour and is slowly adding onto it so that it expands to her arms and sides and I always love seeing which new piece she’s gotten tattooed since I last saw her. It just suits her really well and she’s super passionate about the motive and I love that. And I think that’s where the problem lies for me, I just don’t have any motive or phrase or whatever that I am passionate enough about to permanently put on my body tbh. Also, I am scared of pain and needles, so…

favourite colour? Burgundy.

favourite type of music? Ooof that’s hard to answer, I listen to so many different types of music. One genre I’ve liked pretty consistently from my early teens until now is (mostly British) indie rock and alternative rock – I really like Muse, Placebo, Arctic Monkeys, The Libertines and Nothing But Thieves, for example. And I’ve been to quite a few tiny club concerts of that genre because I know I’ll enjoy it even if I don’t know the band or any of their songs beforehand.

And then I also go through intense music phases mostly related to TV shows I love – it started when I was like 13 watching Gossip Girl and obsessively listening to Death Cab for Cutie, Bloc Party and Sum 41 to when I watched SKAM and got very into Norwegian music (the Norwegian singer/rapper Cezinando still features consistently in my top Spotify artists and has done so since 2017). And now that I’m watching Thai BLs, I started with an obsession about Jeff Satur’s music (and listened to nothing else for like 2 months) and am now gradually venturing out into discovering other Asian music (I’m really enjoying WOODZ, Hua Chen Yu and Violette Wautier so far). So that was a lot of rambling, but still barely covers half of what I actually love listening to…

do you like puzzles? I haven’t done puzzles in aaages, but I have very fond childhood memories of doing them with my grandparents on NYE while waiting for midnight. I think I would still enjoy them if I did them now.

any phobias? Not really. Stuff I’m pretty scared of, sure, but no full-blown phobias.

favourite childhood sport? Hmm, in terms of the sports we played in school, I really enjoyed “Völkerball” (which I’m pretty sure vaguely translates to dodgeball, but I don’t think it’s entirely the same thing). The only problem was that I was really good at dodging the ball and never getting hit, but very, very bad at catching the ball or hitting other people with it, so I could never actually end the game by taking out people on the other team either.

I only started in my teens, but I also really enjoyed (and still enjoy) climbing and bouldering. And my family went skiing every winter when I was a child, which I hated at first, but started to enjoy in my early teens when I didn’t have to do lessons with a bunch of other kids tumbling down the mountain anymore.

do you talk to yourself? All the time in my mind, and sometimes out loud when I’m on my own (particularly when I’m frustrated about something).

what movie(s) do you adore? I actually really love heartwarming feel-good movies tbh. One of my favourite movies is Pride (2014) because it just radiates so much joy and solidarity and a will to live and make things better that always lifts my mood. And I can’t even tell you the amount of times I’ve rewatched Mamma Mia. Another genre of movies I seem to enjoy is movies about female rage a.k.a. women going batshit crazy but being totally justified in it, such as Promising Young Woman or Gone Girl. I do generally prefer watching TV shows to movies, though.

coffee or tea? I get the jitters and become hyperactive in a really uncomfortable way when I drink coffee, so I rarely do. I mostly drink black tea or Mate for the purpose of waking me up.

first thing you wanted to be growing up? Well, according to old friendship book entries, I first wanted to be a princess (until my mum bought me a book about the Habsburgs and I quickly abandoned the idea, which I think was the point) and after that a cook.

Tagging @crumchycow, @mightymightygnomepriest, @salamander89, @fiddlepickdouglas, @obscurecurse

and @lilmaemae and anyone else who wants to do it 😊

[cere-mon-ials]

2022 in kdramas

*that I finished

I spent my January nursing all that The Red Sleeve broke (my heart), nourishing what it gave me (provocation to write, notes here), cursing what it did for my overall k-drama viewing expectations. I am still mad that Lee Se-young wasn’t recognised for what she did in TRS, a show that belongs to Deok-im and her alone. I had finished Good Manager a day before, a long-winded bromance between Namkoong Min and Lee Jun-ho. I didn’t think much and truth be told, I don’t remember much either. Happiness fell flat after three episodes; stayed for the remaining episodes because of the excellent chemistry between the main characters. I evidently watched Coffee Prince many years too late but I saw every reason why I might have never finished school if I had seen it earlier.

Run On kept me thrilled on occasion, became white noise otherwise. I loved seeing my two joys, running and translation, woven into the show, loved the miracle of found friendships and homes, and a defiant writing philosophy that healthy relationships are worthy of being probed. Despite how unbearable Our Beloved Summer was about Ji-woong’s unrequited love, I could see the good-naturedness of the story writer-nim was trying to tell. I loved watching why the two leads fell apart and what brought them together. I loved that this had something to do with communication but I loved even more, that it just had to do with having grown up and realising you can love something you’re not and that’s one way to experience life. Kairos is the most underappreciated show that tackles time-travel. Great writing with exceptional attention to detail.

February was spent with the duology of the Ahn Pan-seok—Kim Eun—Jung Hae-in universe, the k-drama equivalent of Austenian bliss. Both shows benefit from Kim Eun’s thesis that romance may be intimate but love, in a patriarchy, demands a public that must accept it. Ahn Pan-seok is the finest orchestrator of moments that feel like the time lapse that falling in love is, that thing that people often reduce to soulmatism or violins at first glance. In One Spring Night, it works. In Something in the Rain, it fails because Kim Eun was still finding her voice as a writer who is stumped by what makes for the ‘right’ kind of conflicts in a 16-episode arc. I don’t think that’s the only problem with SITR but it’s the one she solved with marvelous elegance in OSN. In both shows, the main leads are charmingly, refreshingly communicative with each other. But it is in OSN, where Kim Eun figures out that being vulnerable is not the same as talking about vulnerable things, and how to make it count for all relationships that matter. Son Ye-jin and Han Ji-min, I love you both equally.

In March, I began paying an honorarium to the guard of my Jang Hyuk horny jail. Deep-rooted Tree made me cry in at least 14/24 episodes. A Joseon murder mystery wrapped in a drama about accessible language as the beginning to breaking down class barriers and nation-building, with nerdy love for character interiority? I ate that up. Han Seok-kyu is the only reel King Sejong ever. Just like Jang Hyuk is the only reel Bang Won ever. My Country: The New Age is a shallow show with hilarously lofty dialogues and masterful action sequences. In my most generous reading, MCTNA attempted to ask if Bang Won’s modernity could have come at a lesser price; is modernity not equivalent to audacity? Woo Do-hwan is almost as good at portraying audacity as Jang Hyuk.

Having Park Eun-bin and Kim Min-jae play Brahms in a riveting duet is exactly what Do You Like Brahms? set out to do. Introverts are rarely done well on the screen and getting it right with not one, but two leads is an achievement too. If you are a person fuelled by that mystical "passion," the creative arts industry can be a cruel place. Chae Song-ah is, by all accounts, not as talented as the others around her, and this is not a story of stick-with-it-till-you-rise-from-the-ashes. Even the hope that it might be is wonderful writing because Song-ah is far more assertive than anybody gives her credit for, like a baby who holds onto your finger with shocking strength. In classical music especially, there is no such thing: you are good or you are out. Park Joon-young is great and yet, he is begging for an out, because being good is just the beginning. These two and the other characters are deeply in love with music and they want to protect that love. They all find out that in the end that love needs sustenance, not protection.

I binged Fated to Love You in April, in a private experiment to see how much Jang Hyuk brainrot I can take. (Let’s remember this is a summary of the shows I finished.) I came out of it with brainrot for one more Jang. Outrageous show, outrageous star power. Soundtrack No. 1 was a forgettable experience save for the fact that I am now a person who looks up Park Hyung-sik’s MDL page on the reg. I think everybody is right about Twenty-Five Twenty-One: (a) Baek Ye-jin and Na Hee-do were always going to break up (b) It was a terribly-conceived finale. Two other opinions I am going to leave here: (c) Ji Seung-wan, darling of my heart, should have been the lead for the show that writer-nim actually wanted to do. (d) More people would see this, and also may have responded with thoughts beyond ship discourse, if Na Hee-do was played by anyone other than Kim Tae-ri.

I think people were right about criticising Lee Soo-yeon’s Grid too. The science of time-travel took some leniency. I get why the finale would have been unsatisfying, even as a setup for a potential second season. But I offer that the thesis of LSY’s shows is never in how they end, because they are not moral science lessons for the future. Grid’s deeply introspective themes of time-travel and the greater good begins with the the sun, the most reliable force in a human's life, turning against mankind. This immediately takes away a human as ultimate antagonist, when it easily could have been. For LSY, the future is the darkest place with unknowable power and we have the task of paving a path of light towards it. Time-travel is not the science-fiction component with which to imagine our behaviour in an unrecognisable, but possible, place. It’s the fucking fantasy. Even if we got the chance to change the past, we really couldn't. The future is what we have got to change and the present to make the first move. Those dreams of going back, repenting hard enough, flirting with what ifs? Not going to cut it. LSY's meta elegance is in bringing the intensely personal version of this theme in parallel to the big one: divorce. FWIW, she had all these threads tie together by Episode 7. I get why she said Grid is the next iteration of her life's work—an exceptional mind.

Park Min-young could have chemistry with a rock, and thank god, Seo Kang-joon isn’t one. When The Weather Is Fine is the rightest show about life in the countryside. It nails the fine line of a tight-knit community that shows up for you and also, how easily they can be the first source of judgement, as people who know your secrets. Best book club in a k-drama. Very well done pining. Imo is my favourite character and she should publish that novel because “Hey. Who do you think killed my brother-in-law?” is a banger opening line. I first saw Lee Jae-wook in this show.

During the weekends of April and May, there was My Liberation Notes. I watched it like a scheduled therapy session, although I do not think Park Hae-young is aiming for catharsis with her works (despite it seeming like the most common outcome). I didn’t have the word “healing” in my everyday vocabulary so often before k-dramas. It’s a genre of k-drama that is meant to be comforting, to inject slowness into everyday life as an antidote for the ills of modern society. Bullshit. There are multiple wide shots of the Yeom family tending their farms, eating in peace amid the greenery, and they are claustrophobic. It might feel like complaints, and you’re free to think that. But PHY knows, as most people my generation do, finding an escape is actually really easy. That’s not the point. The point is to be less sad about being who you are; to know that who you are is enough to make a living, find love if you want it, make peace with your family. This show is about siblings as the real loves of your lives.

I don’t remember what I was doing in June.

Pachinko is not a k-drama strictly speaking, but let’s do it. I adore Min Jin Lee and I am afraid to admit how emotionally attached I am to the world of Kogonada’s eyes. In MJL's book, the linear structure is meant to make you feel like the history of a family can also be a history of the other themes that consume intellectual space. In the show, there is no such thing as a past, or a history. Nothing is done, nothing is over and under the rug. You see Sun-ja’s and Solomon’s stories at the same time because there's no distance that makes what happened then far enough from what's happening now. For this alone, Pachinko is a superior adaptation. I have a shrine for every woman in this show. Watching Yumi’s Cells 2 has been among the happiest experiences of my TV viewing life. Bloody Heart could have been bloodier. I respected that it reached a conclusion without feeling the need to give a neat answer to its central question of assertive power as driver of both unity and chaos—there’s humility in realising that the answer need not be determined in one generation. Jang Hyuk thirst got me into the show, Kang Hanna’s outstanding face and smarts kept me there. Lee Joon’s Lee Tae nearly made me quit. Park Ji-yeon, muah. I watched the back half of Signal in July. It is no fault of the show that I was zapped out of will to see women being killed. There were two scenes of Kim Hye-soo’s that wrecked me bad, I had to quit watching for couple of days. Thank you to the makers for giving a genre-defining template. (Kairos did do it better.)

Alchemy of Souls was super fun as a weekly watch. Daeho is boring to me as a setting and the plot ventures into territories worthy of critical thought once in a blue moon. But I admire the ambition, and the storytelling does have its moments. Lee Jae-wook is a menace. Inhaled Rookie Historian Goo Hae-ryung over four days; I enjoyed it. Extraordinary Attorney Woo tried. I also binged Reply 1997. Reply 1988 is always going to be my favourite and I am not going to watch R1994 for a conclusive test of veracity.

Between these shows, their endearing efforts at being fulfilling shows about love of different kinds, I nibbled on episodes of My Mister. I couldn’t watch two episodes together; it was so potent, so unbelievably demanding of my attention in every way imaginable, and I gave it willingly. I wrote about the show here.

October brought the best mystery/thriller show of the year: May It Please The Court. It was written with a clear idea of how much to bite, knew how to chew on it, and that’s why it also landed the best conclusion of the year. The show is astute about forgiveness and justice, and well, forgiveness in justice. I think the show’s success is in how it trusted both its characters and the audience to process what this means to them. Jung Ryeo-won and Lee Kyu-hyung have impeccable married energy from first scene. Lee Sang-hee is the best, the hottest, the finest.

Little Women is the mystery/thriller show with the most potential of the year. It wasn’t until episode 11 that the show lost me but I do think the flaws began revealing themselves a lot earlier. I didn’t appreciate the show’s insistence that the central crime of the show was Sang-ah’s murders and not the patriarchal cult that pretends to be a meritocracy. I thought the Vietnam War references were in conversation for a whole different reason: I viewed it as a nod to the first war where losing means more than winning. That war is the blueprint for the 21st century exertion of control for the right to capital and target audience, rather than mere territory and pride. But this symbolism wasn’t what came through and I understand those who pushed back on how the war's references, along with an exotic flower, rang hollow. LW did get characterisation right, particularly the way poverty alters how intelligence is perceived and valued. It’s ambitious premise—that Louisa May Alcott was wrong in deciding these sisters would taper their poverty with unusual politeness—is radical.

I will rewatch the first 11 episodes of May I Help You in several trying days of my future. Baek Dong-joo and Kim Tae-hee, butlers to the dead and the alive respectively, are companions, friends and lovers, in that order. What's not to love? The acts asked of them are rarely grand but they are delivered with emotional heft. I forgive all the detours taken from episode 12. I tend to find it dull when everybody and everything is connected to each other. In this one's ending, it's quite lovely. I see the vision in saying that we only know Dong-joo’s story because that’s the story we have tuned into. The miracles could be happening to anyone at all. I wish writer-nim wasn’t so Christian throughout—the throwaway line about suicide put me off. Best piggy-backing scenes in a rom-com and also, favourite kiss, I am going to say.

[wooahaes]

on the right track

pairing: non-idol!vernon x gn!reader

word count: 0.7k~

warnings: school stress. senior student reader working on their thesis. also just a smidge of like... implied adhd reader. no proofreading, intentional lowercase, admittedly very self-indulgent.

daisy’s notes: i am terrified of being an adult w a Real-ish Job can someone fund me to get my masters--

four thousand five hundred and sixty-nine words and you were finally fucking done with your rough draft.

despite everything you had once thought about writing, drafting out your senior thesis was far harder than you thought it’d been. one part of it had been your inability to focus, brain flitting to something else that needed doing (or, rather, anything else because revisiting your stupid books for the fifteenth time was boring and there was a reason you’d put off actually typing up excerpts). the other part had just been the frustration of trying to satisfy your professor--who, in all fairness, was encouraging as hell and one of the best women you’d ever met. at least she gave you thesis a fair chance and indulged you in it instead of writing it off because it didn’t contain british literature. your boyfriend had been thankful of that: as much as he liked to hear your passionate rants, he knew it couldn’t be good for you to get so frustrated with one woman.

that brought you to now: three in the morning days after the rough draft was technically due. you told yourself that it was fine, as only one of your classmates had submitted it on time. you were busy with other things, namely other classes, anyway. you were getting some progress on it.

(of course, that progress also came in late nights at your computer until vernon inevitably woke up, reached over to the empty space in bed, and then made his way back to you. his warm arms would wrap around you as he slowly pulled you away when you finished the sentence you were on, mumbling that you needed sleep. with him. he missed having you there to cuddle, and a pouty boyfriend was the easiest way to make you give in to your own desire to curl up in his arms and fall asleep.)

no thoughts, head emptier than earlier, you submitted the damn thing to your class’s discussion board and immediately clicked off. you relaxed into your chair, shutting your eyes with a heavy sigh. sure, there was more to be done after your professor looked it over and gave you feedback: but this was one step. hopefully a final draft wouldn’t require rewriting every damn part of the paper.

“baby?” vernon was lingering near the kitchen at this point, staring at where you’d moved from the dining table to the couch for maximum comfort. “are you done?”

you shut your laptop with a sigh. “for now.”

he perked up, immediately making his way over to flop into the space next to you. “you’re done!”

“for now,” you repeated. “i still have to edit the thing and then do my defense--”

“you’re done,” he said again, “with this part. you’ve got the rest of it, babe. no sweat.” he set aside your laptop, already pulling you into his arms. “i’m proud of you.”

you almost want to make some quip, asking if he suddenly decided to become your dad. yet something about the sentiment made you tear up, breath hitching as your emotions overtake you faster than you expected. one step closer to being done with all of this bullshit. you felt your tears brim up and finally overflow as you began to cry into vernon’s shirt, and he was already starting to rub circles into your back as he pulled you in closer. between the rough draft and every other assignment you had on your plate... this cry was what you needed.

“i mean it, babe,” he said in a softer voice. “i’m really, really proud of you. you came back to it.”

you did. you were supposed to graduate earlier that year. he knew how much you had struggled with having to withdraw from classes and then go back into it after barely two months of down time. and he knew exactly how scared you were of whatever came next, after you actually graduated.

“did you eat?”

you shook your head.

“aw, baby...” he dragged out the term of endearment, and you could hear his smile in his voice. “that’s no good. c’mon, i’ll warm it up for you. you’ve still gotta eat--”

except you wrapped your arms around him a little tighter, taking refuge for a little longer. his arms wound back around you a moment later, thumb tracing hearts into the back of your shirt.

“i love you,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss into the side of your head. “c’mon. it’s self care time.”

at least you had vernon to have your back when you needed it the most.

general taglist: @wonuziex​ @twancingyunhao​ @synthetickitsune​

[dynamic8ball]

"The Girl in the Iceberg" synopsis/trailer

Before I introduce to the world of Tumblr and possibly beyond of what I'm about to write, I just wanna say what this "synopsis/trailer" thing is. You all know what a movie or TV show trailer is, right? Well I'm about to (sort of, maybe?) do it for a fanfic that I've been adoring for the past several months. A Legend of Korra fic titled "The Girl in the Iceberg" by RainbowRosieS (I'm not them by the way. I'm just promoting it because I love it so much as a reader) on AO3. Here's a link to it if you just want to skip my ramblings, but I just want to get this out because 1) I love this ongoing fic to death and 2) I could use the exercise for writing 3) I want to do it for fun. https://archiveofourown.org/works/44664853/chapters/112368748

Republic City, present day.

The hustle and bustle of Republic City is alive and well. Motor vehicles deafen the streets and boulevards; brands such as Satomobile and Cabbage Car making up the majority of the automobile market. Airships float high above the metropolis overseeing the urban landscape. The inner-city's ship yards teem with union dockworkers mooring ships to shore, lifting and transporting crates by hand off incoming ships, evaluating inventory and inspecting ships that prepare for yet another journey.

All this with the ever-growing city skyline sitting still yet tall in the background, unsuspecting of what a mere anthropology major has brought to these shores. She was no ordinary anthropology student: for one she was regarded as an outlier to the profession. Many regard Asami Sato with wariness and skepticism as an up and coming anthropologist, a field, like many others during this time, dominated by the male demographic. Many already know who she is - or better yet, who she is related to. The daughter to automobile magnate, Hiroshi Sato, Asami has grown to develop a passion for the field she studies at Republic City University. A passion, like many other things, she shares with her late mother, Yasuko.

It was unfortunate - tragic, Asami thought - that her mother couldn't be here to share this breakthrough with her. Asami, reservedly, has never been much of a religious person; her beliefs more or less relied on the laws of physics and what has been proven to be possible. But she could only pray that her mother could somehow see this. Her biggest discovery thus far in her young career and still in university.

On the surface, it just looked like a giant iceberg had been dragged all the way from one of the poles from the ship's stern. Asami's calculations proved to have been mostly accurate with how much the ice would melt over the course of their month-long voyage back home from the Southern Water Tribe without losing any precious cargo still frozen within the ice. This trek had been a long time coming; adversity from her skeptical colleagues and university staff, along with many sleepless nights studying numerous sites and artifacts for her expedition as the basis for her master's thesis had all been worth it thus far.

More work was to be done, for sure. The iceberg was to be craned and shipped to a nearby warehouse that her father owned by the docks. Then it would be a matter of time before her team chipped away at the melting ice and discovered more of what lay inside. Back at the South Pole, Asami could already tell roughly what sat inside was a woman in heavy furs surrounded by clubs and spears suspended within the ice along with a canoe and some unidentifiable white form that lay next to the woman.

Asami kept her excitement in check and expectations tempered as she should show respect for the dead and expect mild results and let the subjects of her studies surprise her. Little did Asami know that she was in for a surprise the likes of which hadn't been seen in recorded history and was long forgotten by the world at large. A generational being frozen for millennia and more, lost to time and history. The myth that turned true.

The girl in the iceberg had waited long enough.

__________

The Avatar is a myth. A tale of bygone eras where people possessed the power to control and bend the elements around them like it was an extension of themselves. The Avatar, born with the power to bend the four elements, was thought of as the bridging spirit between the material world and the spirit world.

Today, spirits are nowhere to be found. Bending has become extinct. The Avatar has long since disappeared.

History roughly remembers who some of the few Avatars were, or at least just by name. The last of these Avatars mysteriously vanished off the face of the Earth over 9,000 years ago, leading many through the annals of time to speculate: Was the Avatar cycle broken? Where could they might've gone? Did the Avatar even exist at all?

Bending and the spirits, too, are questioned to have existed. Throughout the centuries, humans have relied more on practical tools instead of hokey superstition. Evolving technology from stone tools to eventually reaching the industrial age. Beliefs and religion have shifted significantly as well through millennia. The most notable religion, the Church of Raava, has followers spanning the globe in millions. Believing Raava is an all seeing and knowing deity, he supposedly grants access to the after life in the spirit world to those who were devout in the church's beliefs, escaping the cycle of reincarnation.

The world itself is mostly the same geographically. New nations have risen and fallen with varying connections to one of each of the four elements. Bloody wars have been waged with clubs, spears, swords up until the invention of the firearm, shaping combat to be more distanced and deadly. The most recent Great War saw the introduction of the machine gun along with chemical weaponry when the world's powers collided in ruthless trench warfare.

Even with that war over, conflict still ravages the Earth Empire in a gruesome civil war. While the United Republic is experiencing relative prosperity since their arms ceased, trouble looms for immigrants fleeing from the Earth Empire civil war as living conditions worsen in Republic City. Aid groups such as the Red Lotus try and offer help to those in need, even when faced with the threat of Amon's separatists. The separatists' focus is forcing anyone who's not a United Republican out, dismantling the concept of the UR as a melting pot of cultures to establish isolationist peace and prosperity between cultures.

Problems and conflicts continue to mount for Republic City and the rest of the world. Resolutions seem to be growing scarcer by the day as millions still suffer. Perhaps the Avatar, master of all four elements, could save them. So much time had past, though, that the world almost looked unrecognizable to Korra. Without an Avatar for the time she was frozen, the world fell out of balance. And though this brave new world looks very bleak, she hasn't lost hope. Especially when her new hope had discovered her frozen in the iceberg and set her free.

Asami Sato didn't know it yet, but the ancient Water Tribe girl she had released was more than a capable warrior, she held the last hope for balance to be restored. And although her bending skills were great, Korra has a lot more to learn about this world before she should reveal herself to anyone. When the time comes, those that have come to know her will believe that Korra can save the world.

Again, here's the link to the story. https://archiveofourown.org/works/44664853/chapters/112368748

20 chapters are already out with 166,284 words already typed. Updates have been steadily published every Tuesday. If you got an account on AO3, please read it and if you like it, give it a Kudos and leave a comment to the proper author. If no AO3 account, Kudos and comment anyways.

I might do another for other fanfics that I like and enjoy. I've read enough in over a year's time that I could probably rank them in tiers or something that people do, right? Got a ton of LoK fanfic recommendations so go ahead and ask if you want my opinion or whatever.

See yall whenever!

[psycholojosh]

Almost There!

Been wanting to write on my blog for quite some time now, but I haven't got the time because of practicum. Since September last year, I struggled fulfilling my psychotherapy hours in my master's clinical practicum because I couldn't let go of other commitments, such as my jobs. Being the only person who has to finance his own personal needs and ambitions, I made it a point to make ends meet no matter what -- without compromising *too* much of my wellbeing. But I learned that the hard way. Throughout the months, I struggled with juggling and switching between tasks because there was just so much. (And I'll write more on this in another blog entry.) But it took a toll on me.

So come January this year, I made it a point to rest and recalibrate until I could find my rhythm. And thankfully, I did. Around the end of March, I was able to restart my practicum journey and have been consistent ever since. I learned how to practice boundary and expectation setting -- even if I still suck at it. But, hey, that's progress, if I do say so myself.

By next month, I'll be hitting an important goal. I needed 200 hours of psychotherapy work. And currently... I'm at 190! I just need 10 more hours and I've done the bare minimum in this area. Then, I can switch into assessment practicum more intensely (but I've started this as well). But it's still gonna be a challenge, considering what I'm about to talk about next...

The other thing that I foresee as a challenge is... thesis season. It was hard to believe at first but I thought, "Oh shit. I'm so close to finishing this." And I sooner realized that I needed to prepare for it right away. You see, the ideal scenario for a graduate student is to think about thesis development even before the semester of it. In fact, we were all encouraged to think about it as early as our applications and our first semester!

I already had thesis topics I was passionate about. One of them (which I will not share here in full just yet) has something to do with LGBTQ+ mental health (of course, duh!). I took very brief periods of time throughout the last 5 years reading up on it, exploring it, and studying it. I wouldn't say I'm an expert just yet, but with every learning moment, I feel much more excited to see how I can turn it into a study. But two weeks back, I asked a colleague of mine about some advice with thesis preps. And he aired caution on me. "Start now," he said. And frantically, I did.

But I've been having a lot of questions in my mind recently. Is my topic acceptable by our department? What value do I add to the field? Can I finish this within my preferred timeline (a year, lol)? Am I being too ambitions or too simple? Is this the right time to start my thesis? What if I drop some commitments - quit my job? And how will I sustain myself financially if I do leave work behind? What about my momentum - will I lose it? I didn't realize that there were so many things to consider beyond what the process of graduate thesis goes. And I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling this way.

I'm honestly not sure how to deal with it, nor do I have the answers to my questions -- at least clear ones anyway. But, I'm trusting my gut in this one (as I've always done since I tasted life after college). I feel like I can always pivot on something and make things meet. I'm just worried about what comes next -- and if it's something I don't prefer to happen.

But for now, I'm radically accepting that this is my situation. And pondering about it for too long may not give me my answers. I figured I might as well lean into it and see how I can make things work.

Nearly there. Almost there.

[atundratoadstool]

This might be a weird question, but had having extensively blogged about Dracula been a detriment to writing about it in your thesis? I mean, had writing your opinions about it on the internet been harmful to writing those opinions in a an academic context? I am asking because I also blogged extensively about a subject that I am interested in writing about academically.

I feel that had I been a massively popular Dracula blog--such that all my early speculations about the novel were widely circulated and scrutinized--it may have been a little hard to break away from those readings and really set out to do some hard-hitting academic work. Back when I was doing my Masters, however, gothic lit tumblr certainly didn't have that kind of reach, and having had space to think through my ideas with a generally affable fandom was honestly to my advantage in writing my Masters thesis. I actually wrote a nod to my peers on tumblr into the dedication (alongside the Italian bakery whose coffee and pastries fueled most of my writing), and I occasionally copied out key passages from said thesis that I was proud of onto this blog. I do think there have been a few points where my personal appreciation of certain characters put me off of good criticism that casts them in an unfavorable light, but this is a peril academics face even without a tumblr full of headcanons and fan art.

With my dissertation, which is obviously much more slow going and which only has one Dracula chapter, I've honestly found that being less active in fannish communities (or rather... less active until Dracula Daily hit) has been a little detrimental to my enthusiasm for the project. That low enthusiasm--no doubt--also has something to do with high stress political events and the tumult of a global pandemic, but I think that not taking time to actively cultivate passion for my subjects of study has hurt my work far more than spending too much time writing about those subjects in a non-academic context.

This is only my experience, of course, but I hope that helps!

[chaotic-literature-student]

Hey there, I'm planning to study English literature for my bachelors, but I'm not sure. Since you're doing your major can I ask for your opinion.

Hello there! Thank you for the question.

 I’ll start by giving you my background and then my experience with english as my major: So, actually when I choose to study languagesas my Bachelor degree (I studies english, german, japanese) I did not know actually what I wanted to do as a job (at that times I didn’t know a lot of things), I think I choose what I was most good at. I consider my experience with BA one of the most beautiful. I learned a lot of things, and everything I learned I did it with passion and curiosity. It is true that I learned a LOT, about linguistics, literature and so on but I did not reach the language level I expected to. At the end of my BA I had a little crisis asking myself “what now?”, you see, I was born and raised (and studies for my BA) in a small town in Italy that does not offer so much job for us in the humanities. So I decided to continue with an MA, but this time I choose English Studies because I wanted to specialize only in one language. Moreover, during the summer after graduation and before the start of MA I saved as much money as possibile. This because I grabbed my things and moved in a bigger city for my MA, I did not want to find myself locked in a city that doesn’t give you opportunities (fortunately I also had a scholarship to sustain myself). I think this was one of the best decision in my life that I will always remember with joy. The new beginnings are always exciting. For the MA I studied in-depth what I already learned in my Bachelor. However, at the end of the day what it left me is a theoretical preparation, much useful if you want to pursue a PhD or become a teacher but not if you want to do more “practical” job.

Here’s some of the subject I studies during my english MA: Linguistics, Modern English Literature, Asian-American Literature, Postmodern American Literature, Translation, Digital Humanities, History of English Language.

If you want to pursue a PhD or become a teacher for sure, then yes, study English. If not, but you like it, think carelfully if that’s what you want. But first, you should really think if that what you really like. You will have to read a LOT (and i mean a LOT) of novels, books, theatrical plays. Analyse them in detail, discuss them and criticise them. You will have to write a lot of paper and things like that.

Bear in mind that university will NOT give you everything you need to know how life works out there. There are a lot of thing you will learn by yourself with your personal experience. This apply also when you study a subject, for example you may study a language at university but you will not master it unless you do “something” also when you are out of your classroom (for example reading a book in a foreign language or try to speak with someone).

But let’s go step by step. I don’t know what is your background, if you are native english or not, (because I know that english university systems works a bit differently, so my suggestions may not work), but here’s some things you should ask/reflect on before choosing this major:

- What is the job you want to do? If you didn’t choose your major you probably still don’t know what you want to do. And it’s normal and this is a question that you should not answer with precision, but you shoudl have a rough idea of what you want to be. Personally, I didn’t know what I wanted to become, at first I thought that I wanted to become a teacher but remember that the future is unexpected: in fact, I am now a project manager for a translation company (I do not translate, if you’re wondering it).  And I did not even graduated from my M.A yet, as I am still writing my thesis (I am graduating around september)

- Remember to choose what you like because even if it’s true that there are field of study that are more fruitful in terms of job prospect, if you do it without liking it (even just a bit) you may have difficulties going on studying and working afterwards. Personally I prefer doing something I enjoy, but there are people who don’t mind and think only in terms of job pay, so that’s up to your personality.

- Always remember that even if people tell you that a “job you choose you will do it for your lifetime”, life is unexpected (I aready said it right) and the world out there is full of new opportunities.

- If you already know what you want to do, then don’t choose general study units as me (as you saw in the subject for my MA), but specialize in what you already decided (for ecample, if you want to be an audiovisual translator, choose a specialized master for it)

Sometimes I ask myself if I would change my field of study if I would go back in time, and my answer is no. Even if it seems that humanities don’t offer you future prospects, sometimes it depends on how you see it. With Humanities study background you can do everything and nothing at the same time. Recentely it is having more success, especially if you combine it with digital studies.

Surely, for me, it helped me to be more open-minded, to have a more cultural knowledge and I aquired skills such as writing skills, critical thinking and so on. Don’t be afraid of the future prospect becaus eevrything will come when the time comes. I did not even thought to become a translation project manager but here I am.

At the end of the day, remember that university and job will only be a part of our lives (ok, university for a time will be a whole part of your life, but still) and other than that you are yourself, with all your shades and different hobbies (when I dont’ study I like to play videogames, do yoga and other things). Study and Work should not always be the centre of or life.

(Sorry for my long answer, I tried to be as exsaustive as possibile, If you have any particular question in mind, feel free to ask for more)

[bujorulgalben]

lads today marks three years since i graduated from UCL SSEES (school of slavonic and east european studies) (when i say i loved living in the library that is no word of a lie) with my master’s. due to Everything happening since then, it feels so much longer than that. it feels like forever ago. i ramble about this below the cut:

it wasn’t easy. my tutors were either striking or kept busy with their own research and conferences so my “taught” MA was very much a solo research operation of my own. the one tutor who made time for me was my romanian tutor. i was her only student at beginner level, and the university tried to drop the course due to “lack of interest”. i wrote a strongly-worded email. the course continued. :)

learning that language was insanely difficult to begin with, but she worked with me whenever i had doubts. she introduced me to the british academy of romanian and moldovan studies! she still tells me to tick her hometown off my bucket list of places to see (it’s timișoara/the cradle of the revolution, so ofc i’ll visit).

my romanian studies grade was easily my strongest grade by the end of my studies, and i have her in part to thank. of course, i cannot detract from my own efforts. my reignited passion for research and my love for the topic. i have so many other ideas for papers to write. i’d love to specialise even further on romanian studies and get a PhD in political sociology. one day. maybe. for now, i’m enjoying the nostalgia and reading over my notes. i still need to revisit my thesis.

[maxenceandrebisset]

Is it too late to be matched? If not, I'd love to be added to the list, but please take your time.

I'm 171 cm, green eyes and dark blonde hair.

I'm a student of Oceanography and currently writing my master thesis (well trying to, mostly I'm procrastinating), I also have a bachelor's in geography with a minor in sociology. So, as you can imagine, I'm a little older. I have a project lined up that would allow me to study a river delta in more detail and help design plans for its protection.

I spend a lot of time in and around water and nature in general, I go for hikes, I swim and canoe, and I'm learning to surf, trying to create a balance to my work. Furthermore, I also love to cook and bake.

You might have noticed, that I have a tendency to take on a lot, to the point where I kinda lose track of all my projects. But at the same time I can't just sit around doing nothing as well, it's an irrational fear of missing out. Through my hobbies I meet many new people, with whom I quickly make friends and spent time. But at the same time I have problems to approach people just like that, I need the certainty that something connects us, otherwise I'm always afraid to say something stupid and to embarrass myself lol. I enjoy taking care of others and help them wherever I can.

In a significant other, I'm looking for someone who can balance my energy a bit, but who's also willing to go on an impromptu adventure with me. I also want someone who's mature enough to deal with issues and run a household by themselves, but who can also make me laugh and surprise me with silly little gifts. I have dealt with depression and anxiety throughout my life, so I hope for a supportive, open-minded person. Ideally, they display their love through touch and encouraging words.

I can't stand hedonistic people or those who put on a façade.

Thank you very much, I'm really curious who you match me with

GEORGE RUSSELL

I honestly feel like George would balance your energy just right

- He is not as crazy or overly occupied as many other drivers on the grid (he definitely belongs to the more collected and mature ones, especially among the younger generation, and so far he is not overwhelmed by the off-grid project and activities either, therefore he would definitely have time and energy for you and only you), thus I believe, that he would be able to calm your workaholic side down a bit or help you deal with the work you had started if it was too much for you and if it was in his powers to help you sort everything out

- At the same time, he is up to any sort of fun, even the more absurd ones (we have all seen his interactions with our lovely F1 One Direction squad = the same crackhead as Lando really if he feels like), or adventure -> also seems like a guy, that would really be up to trying out anything, mainly if you wanted him to try your favorite activities like surfing or canoeing, which you could do together and through which he could make you be impressed by his dedication to the relationship and making you happy

- With these two paragraphs being said, I think that he would be very much able to be "mature enough to run the household" as he seems like a guy, who won't be lost in life, too busy to really learn how to be an independent and reliable human being even outside of F1 nor too invested in being a celebrity and living luxuriously, but also have enough of a sense of humor to "make you laugh and cheer you up"

- Not going to lie, he also seems like the traditional romantic guy, who buys you a bouquet of roses and chocolates for anniversary or date night, but eventually falls into buying you silly gifts reflecting your inside jokes, etc. so I wouldn't be scared about this either

- Gentleman as well

- George is also one of the drivers about whom I think that they would genuinely want to know more about your career or interests - so even though he wouldn't entirely understand it or find the same passion as you have for Oceanography, he would definitely try to enlighten himself in it, just so he could have conversations with you about your work and projects and hopefully even help you (in a way him trying to be nice and respectful since you are passionate about his profession and discuss it with him)

-> extremely supportive, literally would compliment every stupidity or come up with crazy ideas of cheering you up if he noticed that you are having a hard time lately - feel like he is a really empathetic person, let alone towards his loved ones, but at the same time won't sugarcoat anything and give you a helpful constructive criticism if you asked him for it

- He would probably be up even for private cooking and baking lessons of yours - lowkey dates cause it definitely wouldn't be all serious and professional with him *wink wink* (would crack a joke or two if he messed something up), but with him actually learning something useful he could use later on to help you with managing the household when he would for example cook instead of you if you were too busy with work

- cheesy boyfriend, can see him using some cheesy pick-up lines on a daily day basis just because he loves the thrill of embarrassing both of you

Wouldn't be a George Russell post if I didn't put his man tiddies in here.

[bitchiha]

hii can you write some detailed nsfw headcanons for kakashi or just write a smut fic i love your writings so i wanted to ask if u could do it or not!

Is it wrong to pick up strange girls at a bar? (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: you asked and you shall receive! The setting is based of A Little Death — the Neighbourhood. Just cause I liked the idea and I wanted to go with it, here’s a link to the song. The reader is basically a Kakegurui character but make it sexual intercourse <3 Kakashi wasn’t originally supposed to be a sub but I wanted to write sub naruto boys at some point so here it is.

Summary: Kakashi meets a mysterious stranger at a bar and things escalate quickly and he takes her back to his motel. After all, is it wrong to pick up strange girls at a bar?

Warnings: drinking, NSFW, sub!Kakashi, dom!reader, harsh degradation (male recieving) so i re wrote this five million times and I can’t torture myself with doing another edit of it so let’s say it’s edited half assedly

In the shitty little town you lived in the only exciting thing it had to offer was the bar.

It was a town used as a resting stop for travellers. People stopped for the night to recharge before continuing on their way to their actual destination in the morning. Many interesting people came in and out, but all the boring ones stayed put. There was no excitement in your family, in your friends, in your neighbourhood… the only time you ever felt even a lick of the feeling was when you were in that bar.

Not a lot of locals drank there, to them the idea of a public drinking place was disgusting and avoided it like the plague, even going as far as to try and ban the joint. To their disappointment, the bar was the main attraction to the travellers, making it difficult to shut down. The frequent travellers insistance to keep it open was solid proof for your thesis; it was the only good thing about this place.

You were one of the few locals that didn’t avoid the bar. How could you when the only exciting people you met were from that joint? Like that woman obsessed with being a bride, or the Taijutsu master in the green stretch suit, or that boy who declared to you that true art was an explosion!

Those were the kind of people you met there, the kind of people you wanted to be with. The only ones who could make you feel like you were breathing, feel like you were human — if that was even possible anymore. God, it felt like every day you spent in this town you lost a little more of your sense of self...

You’re sat there now. In the dim light of the bar on one of the cracked vinyl stools, toying with your empty glass. The bar tender would shoot you a look in a few minutes grunting to “either buy another drink or get out,” but if you were being honest, you didn’t have that much cash on you right now and you hadn’t intended to buy another glass. You see, you had planned to leave earlier with someone new you’d meet at the bar, but no one had yet to ignite that bubbling excitement within you.

You were beginning to get impatient, there was an undeniable need growing in you and it was clawing at your insides, begging you to give it a release. But Monday’s were always slow and you were starting to realize that you may have to wait a little longer than you could bare-

The door to the bar opened and your heart lurched with that desperate craving upon the sight of the man walking through the doorway. Just when you were about to lose hope, you were given your wish. Your body instantly perked up, drinking in that cool manner that he walked with; like he new he was something special, in whatever aspect that may be. He wasn’t flaunting it, no— rather he was just conscious of the fact. Confident.

He had unruly silver hair and the same green vest plastered to his body that the Taijutsu master you met did. He also had a headband on his forehead concealing one of his tired eyes. Upon further inspection you declared that the insignia was the symbol of the Leaf — so he was a shinobi then... He sat down a few chairs away from you.

Quietly, you counted four vinyl coated barriers between you and to your dismay, he had yet to notice you. Instead, he slumped against the table and mumbled an order to the bar tender. You turned your head to look at him again, your fingers tapping against your empty glass. Oh boy, just looking at him made your entire body thrum with that feeling, that exhilarating eagerness pumping through your veins… excitement.

You felt that familiar intoxicating passion swimming through your body a hundred times stronger than you’ve ever experienced before. There was that familiar bitter feeling between your legs and you clenched your thighs together. He was handsome — anyone could agree on that and you just couldn't wait to toy with him. 

Shifting like a curious cat on your barstool, you studied the stranger further. Your movement finally stirred his attention and he turned his head ever so slightly, looking at you for the first time that night. His expression echoed your own curiosity mildly before the bartender slid him his drink, ice clanking in the cup.

You were never one to be shy around strangers, that’s something everyone in the town disliked you for, among other things... But you didn’t think about that as you slid a seat over, giving him a cat-like grin. You chose him for your entertainment tonight, wanting to toy with his cocky attitude until you could swat him around with your paws like a ball of yarn. Like you did with all the ones before him.

“So you’re a Leaf Shinobi, huh?” You asked, taking advantage of his attention, watching him stir his drink. You perched your elbow on the table and balanced your chin on your palm.

“Yeah,” the silver haired ninja smirked a little at your interest, “why so curious?”

You shrugged, “You said it yourself, this bars the only exciting thing in this town. A girls gotta find some kind of amusement, don’t ya think?”

“So I’m amusing to you?”

“Mhm,” you chirped, glad he was entertaining you— albeit a little disinterestedly, but you could work with it... “now go on, what’s it like?”

He was silent for a second. Contemplating before dodging your question, coming off a little distant. “How ‘bout I buy you a drink?” He slid a seat over.

You took his suggestion with a grin, brushing off how he ignored your previous sentence, “Oh! What a gentleman!” You beamed before turning to the bartender, “a vodka and sprite.”

The bartender sighed defeatedly, unable to kick you out of the bar now that the stranger offered you a drink. You were always too damn chatty. The silver haired man snickered at your choice of drink, causing you to gasp at him in mock offense, making him crack the smallest smile.

“What are you laughing at?” You scoffed playfully, once again sliding a chair over. Your arm gliding against the sleek wood table as you did so. Taking your seat, the bartender counted a single chaired gap between his two customers.

“And what are you drinking?” Your voice teasing as your fingers wrapped around his cup and before he had the chance to process your actions you brought the liquid to your lips, tasting its contents and wincing dramatically, “God. Who let you drink that?” You sent an accusing glance at the bartender, who was working on your own drink.

He heard the accusation and lifted a finger with half hearted annoyance, “You’re dangling on my last nerve, y/n.”

So that was your name. Y/n. Kakashi decided he could have some fun real good fun with you tonight. From what you’ve told him, you’re a local in this town, but by the way you dressed he could tell you weren’t like the other people in this place. Wearing that tiny jean skirt and that little top, you were definitely just twenty-one, or maybe twenty-two and certainly not as conservative as the other villagers.

He let himself wonder, as his fingers soaked into the condensation of his glass, how any of them let you out in an outfit like that. Perched a barstool with your leg crossed lazily over the other you looked more dangerous than any enemy he had encountered today.

Before he knew what he was doing, his body was moving him to close the single chaired gap between you two. Sitting on the cracked vinyl, sliding his drink over with him, he simply shrugged at your question and deflected it with a new one.

“And who let you out in that little skirt?”

The two of you maneuvered through the damp halls to whatever room number was engraved on the rusty key Kakashi held (you finally learning his name after some prying.) He slurred something stupid to you as you stumbled along and tilted your head to laugh.

After some drunken fumbling, your beloved stranger managed to unlock the door, pulling you inside in the process. The room was as clean as expected for a cheap room in a shitty motel, but you didn’t bother studying it. You’ve been here countless times before.

You found yourself being pushed up against the door, as Kakashi reached for his headband, pulling it off as you worked at pulling his mask down, your painted nails grazing his skin. Once you tugged the fabric down and his headband clattered to the floor, you marvelled at the sight of his face in its proper glory, burying your hands in his hair as you did so. It was even more alluring in its barest form and there was another wave of excitement surging through your body.

Licking your lips you leaned forward, hands tangling in his hair to connect your mouths for the first time. Teeth grazed against teeth and tongues clashed against tongues in what seemed to be an equally matched fight for power. It was a breath stealing, desperate kiss that lasted for what felt like hours, but could have only been a minute. The kiss had been so invasive that there were sleek strings of saliva connecting your lips, but neither of you moved to wipe them away.

Instead you leaned your head against the wall, his face barely a hair from yours as you both panted. Then in a matter of seconds you were on eachother again, this time the man took to taking your clothes off. Slipping your top off as you began to climb out of your shoes, him doing the same. Leaving you in a bra and your skirt, he started grabbing at your thighs, hoisting them up as he began to move you to the bed. What an eager boy.

When he felt his knees hit the beginning of the mattress, he let his grip on you go, causing your body to fall back. Your arms still around his neck taking him down with you, your back falling onto the mattress as he towered ontop of you. He removed his lips from yours as he began to trail kisses up to your earlobe, tugging at it firmly before licking right up the shell of it.

“How many people have you done this with?” he spoke into your ear, it was a question he was dying to know. Was he gonna be the first? Maybe the second? He liked that idea, liked the prospect of using an all too curious girl for his own pleasure—

“Lots of ‘em, too many to count... but dont take it personally.” What.

He scoffed surprised at your statement, lots? How much is lots? Kakashi felt his ego take a little hit, was he just another person you used for your own desire... He had used many people for his own sake, but he had never had the tables turn on him, until now of course. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” The sound echoed through the shell of your ear and you giggled at the feeling and his voice came out more hurt then upset, which pissed him off even more. Oh how adorable, was the big, strong shinobi’s ego getting hurt?

“Well, You like excitement dont you?” You waited for him to nod an annoyed yes, “Good boy, so we’re on the same track here... Do you know what that’s like to live with a bunch of fucking prudes?” This time you didn’t want for a response, “None of them would even step foot in that bar. Not people like you though and when I saw you I could just feel it... the good fuck could get out of you. I’m gonna have so much fun, we’re gonna have so much fun.” He gave you a surprised look, your mask was slipping and your true colours were shining through and his reaction only egged you on to continue. Did he really think this was some sort of spur of the moment act, that coming here with him was spontaneous.. something special? Oh God, what an idiot..

You pushed at his shoulders, causing him to fall onto his back, allowing you to crawl on top of him. Straddling him, you let your hand to push underneath the fabric of your jean skirt. He stared wide eyed, shocked at how your demeanour was slowly changing. Is the idiot finally getting it now, is he finally understanding his place? “They would never do this. They’d never touch themselves, not like this...” Your fingers dragged along your slit, preparing to access your digits to access to your dripping slit. “But it’s so much fun isn’t, oh and it just feels so good.” As your digits slipped into your enterance your mouth fell open, letting a small moan carelessly fall as you began to push in and out of yourself.

All Kakashi could do was stare up at you. Holy fuck. Were you masturbating ontop of him? The motel room, the look you made, the lewd sounds, all of it.. all of it was like something straight out of the books he read and the fact it was happening to him in real time was beginning to make him short circuit.

“What, You really want to act all shy now, what happened to practically sucking my face off? You brought me back here to fuck, not to blush at me like a virgin.” You said, lifting your skirt with your free hand, giving him a picture to go along with the sounds he was hearing. Upon that sight he made the discovery that you weren’t wearing any panties. “I bet you think about this shit all the time, don’t you? Ngh — You like thinking about girls like this, huh? If you didn’t bring me back here with you, you’d probably be jacking off to the thought of me like some kind of pervert...”

He couldn’t help the red colour invading his face. When he was in bed with girls he was usually the one saying all the dirty stuff, so having you spew all this vulgarity at him was shocking. But what was even more so was the twitching of his cock in his excruciatingly right pants.

He could tell by the face you were making that you were getting close to your own release, the look of embarrassment on his face only fueling your desire even more. Fingers curling and filling your pussy fast and eagerly, thumb moving to flick at your clit. Your tongue was starting to slip out of your open mouth now and he watched the little dribble of saliva coursing down it, your eyes starting to lull to the back of your head — it was that look. That fucking look that he read a hundred times over in the pages of his novels. He felt like he was going to cum just staring at you. But, oh god — were you gonna cum? By yourself? Right now?

Finally being able to move his body, he grabbed your wrist from under your skirt, the lewd sound of your digits leaving your soaked core made his mind all the more foggy. You didn’t complain, the pleasure built up in your core was only intensifying with the anticipation that he was going to be the one between your legs now.

But you wouldn’t tell him that. No, it was too fun to toy with his confidence. “Huh, You think you can make me cum better then my fingers? Hm, Let’s hope I’m not disappointed.” Those words definitely pricked at his ego, but he didn’t have time to mull them over as you began to crawl towards his face.

“You know, you don’t really talk too much, or maybe it’s just cause your a fucking pussy whipped whore...” Kakashi’s face gets redder at the insult. Did you just call him a whore? And why did he like it?

Your breasts bounce in your bra as you moved further up his body. “Lets just see if your mouth is good at something.” You said with dramatic exasperation and before his brain could process it, your thighs were straddling the sides of his head, pushing your core right onto his face.

Kakashi’s reaction was a bit delayed, it was only when your skirt fell over your thighs, trapping him in like a curtain, that he registered the fact that you were now sitting on his face. That and the fact that your pussy was practically suffocating him with your impatience.

He had never felt this much desire to please a woman. You were being so intoxicatingly rough with him that he found his mind only swimming with thoughts of you. Y/n, y/n, y/n. The strange girl he met at a bar. The girl who fingered herself ontop of him and was moaning like a pornstar. The feeling of your wetness already dripping down his chin, ready to be tasted... All of it was tattooing itself into his subconscious.

“Do you need me to say go?” You spat impatiently in the most tantalizing tone, it caused Kakashi’s cock to stir again. However, the words snapped him out of his frozen state and he began to desperately suck at your clit, the wet sounds echoing off the jean curtain and he felt his hips involuntarily buck into the air at your taste.

You felt the movement of his bucking hips and it his embarrassment you refused to let it go. “Oh! So you are a pussy whipped slut? You act so confident but the minute I sit on your face you lose control, just like a good whore.”

As if insulting him turned you on, your mouth began to flow with the most sinful noises and for a second Kakashi thought he was trapped in some fucked up porno. When I’m reality that excitement that had been building inside of you had been finally getting an appropriate release and you were never one to hold back your pleasure.

It felt like your veins were gushing at this point, so much so it felt as though they could burst at any second. You were just so excited and his tongue was so good.. The muscle pushing in and out of your hole, his tongue brushing against your clit as he wriggled as far as he could into your pussy.

Faintly, behind the throbbing in your ears you could hear frustrated fists against the door. They were undoubtably an angry guest that had been awoken by your loud noises, probably a pervy old man too. But you didn't give a fuck and Kakashi was too busy trying to make you cum to care either. Soon enough the banging had either blended into the noise you two were already making or the perv gave up to go jerk himself off.

“You’re licking me like a fucking dog, you’re so desperate to make me feel good.. its fucking sad.” There was no mistaking the vibration of the mans mouth on your clit, he had just moaned. As if that weren’t telling enough you could practically feel the embarrassed heat of his face on the squishy flesh of your inner thighs.  

After another sinful noise barged past your lips you found yourself hurtling quite quickly towards your climax. Losing the little ounce of pity you had for mercilessly using Kakashi’s face, you began to grind onto it. Everything was beginning to feel more heightened now. The booming sound of your heart slamming in your chest, the throbbing of your veins, the feeling of Kakashi’s mouth sucking at your clit.

You didnt even bother to heed the man a warning as you came with a loud moan, all over his face. He wasn’t shocked, afterall he finally seen your true colours and he wouldn’t have put it above you to enjoy his surprised face flushed with your own juices. He felt his arms move from their position on your hips to snake under your skirt and wipe it off—

“Don’t fucking wipe it off.”

After catching your breath, you climbed off his face and stared down at the mess you made. Your hair began to fall over your features, but he could distinctly see the sick smirk on your face before you lent down and licked a line from his chin to his cheek, collecting some of your slick off of him. Then you moved back up again, watching his still blushing face stare at you with wide eyes.

“Y/n-“ But you weren’t listening as you climbed off the bed entirely.

Though your own excitement had been suppressed, you weren’t going to leave Kakashi to finish himself off. You liked to consider yourself a good girl, at least a little bit..

“You were so well behaved, weren’t you? Do you want to cum too?” Were you really about to make him beg? Yes you were. “Come on, use your words little shinobi, why don’t you tell me what you want?” The way you spat that word out belittled him in ever sense and he couldn’t help but buck his hips again.

He felt so embarrassed, but the nights events have had him desperately straining his pants and his normal thoughts were in a far away land. The only thing he could process was the bitter ache in his pants and the sticky substance on his face.

“I-I want to cum too.”

You smirked at him from the edge of the bed. You usually expected a please at the end of the sentence but you weren’t gonna make him suffer anymore. You pat the edge of the matress as a sign for him to shuffle down. He did so eagerly and you began to fumble with his zipper.

“Be a good boy and I’ll let you.”

[khadij-al-kubra]

Worst Impressions are the First (ch 7)

Main Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil (Human AU)

Pairings: Romantic LAMP

Word Count: 5036

AO3

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Author’s (longer than usual but it’s for good reason) Note: *The Apocalypse—2020. Zoom in on a plague rat turned writer. She has survived thesis projects, getting a Master’s degree, burnout, writing and illustrating a children’s book, being a slave for the U.S. census bureau, months of overthinking anxiety spirals, and one or two incidents involving an asshole skunk. But now, battle weary yet unwavering in her love of art and love for her loyal readers, this onesie-clad tea slurping book dragon....has finally arisen from the ashes*

I LIVE BITCHES!!!!!!! And I am SO SORRY for taking so long!!! I’ve been hard at work, been editing like a mad woman, and I even have a beta now! The gorgeous and talented @humbletortoise So I  am OFFICIALLY off hiatus!!! *cue confetti canon* 

Also, one of the biggest reasons I’ve taken so long to update is because I’ve spent the past month or so essentially retconning the fuck outta this fic. I realized looking back at earlier chapters in this story that, although I was proud of them at the time and greatly appreciate the positive reactions, they were...not my best work. (shitty first drafts if I’m being honest) That’s because, at the time, I was trying to split my attention between writing this fic and working on grad school stuff, which resulted in my writing for this not being as best of quality as it could have been upon first posting. This story deserves my best, and so do all of you. So now I hope to give you that. 

I encourage you to go back and re-read the previous chapters up till now (trust me, they’re near unrecognizable to the first drafts, but in the best way). Or if you don’t feel like doing that, you can just continue on from here. totally cool. For the sake of convenience and my own sanity, I’ll attach the AO3 Link to this fic from the start. I may also start just posting chapter updates on tumblr but only have the link to the chapter and add my reader tags. Again, for the sake of my sanity because Tumblr is a bastard when it comes to posting fics. (Also PLEASE let me know if there are any tagging issues if anyone’s on my tags list; yet another reason i’m considering just linking my fics in the future)

Anywho, without further ado, at LOOOOOONG last, here is the next chapter!

Chapter 7 - (POV Roman)

When Roman had offered to walk with Logan to class, it was only partly out of an innate sense of chivalry; a side of himself that he rarely got to show on account of being a socially awkward gay disaster. Though mainly, he saw it as a chance to get to know his second soulmate better.

He certainly hadn’t expected two long minutes of civil but silent walking. Well, as silent as a stroll through their school could be with its usual racket buzzing around them. With a vocabulary as big as the continents of Africa and Eurasia combined, you’d think Logan would be more of a conversationalist. Alas. He merely walked in step with Roman. They glanced over at each other every so often, but Logan stayed tight lipped and seemingly impassive; fiddling with his bumblebee hair pin every now and again. Damn. Looked like he was going to have to make the first move.

Roman was bad at this. How did people usually…Oh yeah, common interest. That’s a thing. He wracked his brain for some sort of ice breaker. One that’d make him look cool and calm or, something, in front of Logan. He was a fairly decent student though not quite mathletes level. He could compliment his outfit maybe? Was that too forward? Too shallow? Maybe he could find common ground? That was as good a place to start as any.

“So! So uhh…What kind of music do you like?” Roman asked. Yeah, that’s good. Everybody likes music.

Logan glanced at him. “Can you be more specific?”

Roman’s brow furrowed. “I mean, like, your favorite genre of music to listen to?”

“Classical,” said Logan in a clipped tone.

“That’s cool. I don’t really listen to classical myself.”

Logan only hummed, his face neutral. Roman was really hoping for more than that. A few awkward seconds passed, then Logan spoke up.

“Are you perhaps a fan of the classic Sherlock Holmes novels?” He inquired.

“Um, I haven’t gotten around to the books yet, actually,” Roman said, scratching his earlobe. “I mean, I’ve heard great things about them. And I’m a big fan of the Robert Downey Jr. movies.”

“Ah. I see.” Logan said, giving him the judgiest side eye.

Come on, Roman thought. Give me something to work with. “Oh! What about theater?”

“What a frustratingly vague inquiry.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to get to know my soulmate a little better.” Ay come jode, work with me here, man!

Logan sighed. “While I understand and appreciate your intention, I believe ‘getting to know someone’ as you put it, requires a certain level of specificity. Anything less indicates a somewhat shallow level of sincere interest, and I greatly despise shallow conversation. That said, if you’re inquiring as to whether or not I enjoy theater, no. I don’t understand the concept of professional make believe, though I appreciate it as an art form. I assume you’re a fan?”

Is he seriously implying I’m shallow? Roman groused, pushing his red frames up the bridge of his nose. Ugh, forget it Roman. He’s throwing you a bone here. Take it.

“Obviously,” said Roman, gesturing dramatically. “I mean I’m no actor—Eesh. No. Yikes—but everything about the artform enthralls me. And I like all kinds of genres and eras of plays, from Shakespear to Ruhl, but musicals are by far my favorite, because like, there’s so much you can do with them design wise. I mean just look at how groundbreaking Hamilton was.”

For a second, Logan’s face actually softened, his eyes lighting up. But just as Roman thought they were finally about to make some progress, his stony companion was back to wearing that platinum puss.

“Ah. How… original.”

Roman blinked. “Are you saying my tastes are basic?”

“Well, yes.”

Augh! Okay. Yep. I don’t like him. Patton was going to be so disappointed, and Roman was too. He’d wanted so badly to get along with all his soulmates, but Logan was a snob! Way less intimidating than Virgil and his ilk, but still a jerk. I wonder if soulmarks can make typos or something? Thank the stars they’d already arrived.

Roman and Logan filed in with the rest of the class for seventh period. Somebody had the liberty of opening a window– the AC was still busted in this classroom– so for once there was actually a decent breeze cutting through the usual mucky Florida humidity. Still smelled like it would probably rain later. Good thing Roman had packed an umbrella just in case, Mom’s orders. His hair looked too good today to be wrecked by frizz.

Roman took a seat at his desk, running distracted fingers over the carved letters in the wood while he mulled over his predicament. Just look at him over there, thought Roman as he glared at Logan, not two rows away from him. Sitting with his hands clasped on the desk all smug—of course he’d be near the front—and with such disturbingly good posture. What is he, a robot? Who is he to call my interests basic, the NERVE! And okay, sure, like Hamilton, sometimes I get over excited and shoot off at the mouth. But great Zeus, does that guy show passion for ANYTHING besides academics? Roman blew a raspberry, plopping his head in his hands.

He always thought soulmates were supposed to get along, even as just friends for life. Balancing each other out, bringing out the best in you and forming a deep connection—that was the whole point. He sighed to himself. Cymbals clashed less than he and Logan did.

He was stirred from his brooding by the bell. Apparently Mr. ‘Call-me-Terrence’ Williams had materialized without him noticing. Okay fine, he should probably pay more attention, but he was having a crisis here.

“Afternoon everyone,” Terrence greeted in that measured, upbeat tone of his.  

He draped his navy blue blazer over the back of his desk chair and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows. Roman pitied the poor guy;  he had to teach sauna of a classroom all day. He could see the glisten of sweat on his teacher's smooth forehead as he wrote things on the board. Yet he still kept a pleasant attitude towards his students.

“Alright class!” Terrence started, “Today we’re covering the next section on the American Revolution. Specifically, the Battle of Yorktown...”

Roman mentally punched the air. My time has come. He opened his textbook to the right page but didn’t bother looking at it. He already knew most everything about Yorktown. Not just because he’d listened to the Hamilton soundtrack fifteen and a half million times, but also because he’d done actual research on the event and time period that the musical took place; There was always the off chance he’d get to stage crew or, heck, even dramaturg the show. He liked to be prepared.

“So the battle of Yorktown took place in 1781, but a great deal of its success was thanks to the French Allies. Many especially aided in fighting the British Troops surrounding New York. Now who can tell me where the French Soldiers first landed?”

Roman half raised his hand. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Logan.” Terrence called.

Roman turned to Logan desk, where his hand was held high and mighty.

“The French Ally ships first landed in Rhode Island, then made their way to Chesapeake Bay,” said Logan, adjusting his glasses. Not even a hint of second guessing in his voice.

“That’s right!”

He almost missed the quick smirk on Logan’s frustratingly pretty face. Look at that smug—thinks he’s so smart...Okay yes, he is smart, but he doesn’t have to be a show off about it. Terrence continued through the passages, calling on a student every now and again to review. Of course, Logan got called on most and he got every answer right. Roman didn’t feel like raising his hand anymore.

“Of course there were many turning points in the revolution, but Hamilton’s return to the field for Yorktown was a key point.” Terrence continued on. “And keep in mind- this was a man who up till now had never been in a position of command before. Not to mention the mental strains he must’ve been under, especially having had to miss the birth of his son Philip, the first of three children he had.”

Wait a sec. “Well, that’s not right.”

Even though he’d muttered, apparently Mr. Terrence still heard him. “Come again, Roman?”

Shoot. “Um, I said,” Stop sounding timid, you know you’re right. “I said that was, um, wrong.”

The whole class turned to him. Oh great, history class has its eyes on me. Roman cleared his throat and tried to look taller.

“What I mean is: Hamilton had eight kids, not three. And on top of that, Phillip was born a few months after they won the Revolution, not during, so Hamilton didn’t miss the birth of his son. I mean sure, it’s a small thing, but the devil’s in the details as they say. Heh.”

Terrence gave the most insultingly bemused look. And Roman definitely heard a few kids snickering behind him. He glanced quickly at the culprits and felt his ears go hot. This is what he got for putting himself in the spotlight.

“Roman, I applaud you for participating in the class discussion,” Their teacher started gently, “but I’m afraid you’re wrong on this one. If you read your textbook close you’d see in the fifth paragraph where it mentions from one of his later letters—“

“Actually Mr. Williams, if I may, Roman is correct.”

Roman saw Logan at his desk, one hand raised while the other adjusted his neck scarf. Was the teacher’s pet actually… backing him up?

“It is a common misconception that Alexander Hamilton only had two children, even more so modernly, what with the musical having only named two of them. However Roman has clearly done his research on the plays historical accuracies, which is more than I can say for some.”

Logan shot a cool but scathing look at their recently snickering classmates and they withered. Roman fought the urge to point and laugh aloud. He did however stick his tongue out real quick. What? He could be shy and petty at the same time.

“My guess,” Logan continued, “is that this textbook edition is also either misprinted or outdated, judging by the publication date in the copyright section.”

Brows furrowed, Terrence looked at the textbook laid open on his desk. He flipped back to the front, before pulling out his cellphone—“I’m the teacher, I’m allowed to do this. You guys aren’t.”—and after what Roman guessed was a quick Google search, their teacher looked up. His eyebrows drawn in a ‘hm, well damn’ expression.

“Looks like you’re right, Roman. And thank you Logan for bringing to my attention about the textbooks. I’ll have to talk to the principal about hopefully getting some updated materials. But we’ll see how that goes,” Terrence, muttered the last part, though Roman was close enough to catch it. Terrence cleared his throat and moved back to the board. “Maybe if we call on assistance from the inside. Much like how the Sons of Liberty sent in Hercules Mulligan to spy on the British...”

“Perhaps if we knew of an immigrant who was unafraid to step in,” Logan said just under his breath.

No one else seemed to notice the reference, but when Roman did, he felt like a mini volcano about to burst rainbow lava. Apparently there was a lot more to his soulmate than first meets the eye; and now that he knew, Roman was determined to see more of it. The rest of class passed quickly and everyone filed out to the halls as the first bell for the last class period of the day rang. Roman made sure to catch up to Logan on the way out and staccato tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Logan?” He said.

When Logan turned, he swore time slowed down for a moment. The brilliant boy’s skirt flared around his waist, and somehow his skin glowed even under the dull, inconsistent school lights. His posture was erect yet natural, he could have been raised among nobility. Amidst the stench and clamor of loud sweaty students, Logan was as poised and striking as the goddess Athena. Oh...

“Yes, Roman?” Logan asked.

Roman gulped. “I uh, just wanted to thank you for backing me up in there.”

“Thanks are unnecessary,” Logan said. “I detest when someone is shamed by other students for speaking up in class, regardless of whether or not they have the correct information.”

“Well regardless, thanks for coming to my aid in the face of academic danger.”

“Dramatic, but my pleas—oof!”

A hurried passerby bumped into Logan from behind, rushing off with a half-assed ‘sorry’. Logan, caught off guard, stumbled right into Roman’s arms. The two looked at each other, cheeks filling with heat. Roman caught a whiff of something faintly floral on Logan, something natural– a lavender and honeysuckle perfume, perhaps. It was heavenly. They were still in the middle of foot traffic though, so he maneuvered them to the side. Which was tricky since Logan was still so close to him and also a good two inches taller with the heels.

“Well,” Roman flashed his pearly whites. “Seems you’ve fallen for me.”

Logan pulled away, but his lips quirked upwards in a teasing smirk. “Oh please, I merely stumbled into you.”

“Ah, but stumbling is the first step towards being swept off your feet.”

“Bold words from an abashedly charming homunculus in such an… eye catching ensemble.”

Did he call me charming!? He composed himself, “Hey, don’t let the sweater vest fool you. I may be short but I’ve got guns.”

“Aaah. But mind over muscle, as they say. Do you find yourself up to the task?”

“Only if it’s you, my brainy blossom.”

Roman’s class was in the other direction, but Logan didn’t need to know that. They walked through the halls, conversing. class was still in the next ten or so minutes, but Roman was having fun. Banter with Logan felt surprisingly easy. Natural like they’d been at it all their lives.

“By the way, was that a ‘Guns n’ Ships’ reference I overheard, pastel poindexter?” Roman asked.

Logan cleared his throat. “It… may have been, yes. I found myself unable to resist toppling the figurative dominos.”

“In other words, you seized the opportunity you saw,” Roman said, matching his own reference to the source’s cadence, which got a chuckle out of Logan.

“Precisely. Under more casual circumstances, I may have even recited Lafayette’s part.”

“You can rap? You can rap Guns n’ Ships? Like, the whole thing, no tongue twists?”

Logan stopped for a moment, turned to Roman. The taller boy cleared his throat, and after a moment wherein he seemed to mentally restrain himself, he simply adjusted his glasses.  “I have an appreciation for poetry.”

Roman blinked rapidly. Holy shit, he’s an even bigger nerd than I am. He definitely needed to see that at some point.

They turned a corner, stopping just outside of the science room. Some students were going in to take their seats, and the teacher was already making notes on the board. Logan pulled an AP Physics book from his backpack, but made no move to leave, much to Roman’s delight.

“So then,” Roman leaned against the eggshell wall, “How come you acted so indifferent earlier and called my tastes basic? Oh, and I think I remember you also implied I was shallow?”

Okay, yeah, he was still kind of salty about that. But then he saw the shamed look on the nerd’s face, and Roman wished he could have taken it back. Logan looked at his shoes then back at him.

“To be candid I was… hesitant to show the full extent of my enthusiasm. In case you thought I’d be—I believe ‘being the most’ is the term— it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve caused someone to lose interest in conversing with me due to informational overload. I nearly bored my Aunt Patricia to sleep once talking about a fascinating article on jellyfish. And considering how I blundered our initial meeting—“

“Pfft, ya think?” He mentally slapped himself again when Logan went tight-lipped and turned to go. “No, no, wait. I—I’m sorry. Truly. ...Truth is, I was no gentleman either. I’m not always great at thinking before I speak. It’s why I’m so awkward around people. Takes a while for my true charming nature to shine through.”

“Clearly. Still, you show a level of interpersonal aptitude that I, well, lack.” Logan fiddled with his hair pin again and a stray hair came loose. “Reading people and expressing emotions has never really been—It’s something I struggle with.”

Much as Logan tried to maintain his cool composed posturing, Roman could tell that this was something that really bothered him. He tried so hard to seem put together and confident and serious, but really he was just as awkward and insecure as anyone. Roman smiled softly and stepped closer to Logan, reaching up to tuck the loose ebony strand behind his ear.

“Hey, everyone’s got things about themselves they can work on. Including me,” Roman smiled. “And believe me when I say that I will never judge you for being passionate about something you like. So if you ever want someone to ramble about jellyfish or Sweeney Todd to or—I dunno, calculators or something?—I’m all ears.”

Logan’s cheeks went pink and he gave a hesitant yet sincere smile. “That’s...very kind of you, Roman. And coincidentally, I also greatly enjoy Sweeney Todd. The use of iambic pentameter and alliteration to give a succinct synopsis to the story in just the first sentence alone is pure brilliance.”

“Right!? I mean the man’s a mad genius. I’m dying to design sets for one of his musicals someday. Like last year? I came up with the concept of having the Sweeney Todd sets done in a way that highlights the class differences with the characters.” Roman went into a small three minute ramble regarding the specifics before he cut himself off abruptly. Logan was blinking rapidly, a look of mild shock crossing his feature. Roman nearly started sweating; Had he messed this up again?

“That… that’s ingenious”

Roman’s ears were burning. Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!

“Hey, Logan!” They both startled and turned to an impatient cheerleader with a ginger undercut and they/them pronoun pin shaped like a coffin. “What’re you doing just standing out in the hall, ya dork? Oh, hey Roman.”

“Uh. Hey, October,” Roman said, waving awkwardly to them.

“I told ya, Red, you only get to call me that when we’re working on a show.”

“Wait, October? Red? You two know each other?” Logan asked, brow arching.

“Kind of. They sometimes help out with costumes for the drama club,” said Roman. And they have terrible timing. I mean seriously Tobes, we were having a moment.

“Come on Lo, class is about to start, and you promised to go over my homework with me real quick beforehand. See ya ‘round, Ro.” Toby grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled him into the classroom. “You can fill me in on what you were doing with Red later.”

Logan followed his—apparently—friend into their classroom, but he shot Roman an apologetic look over his shoulder. Roman bounced a bit on the balls of his feet before following halfway into the room. Logan was in his seat with Toby showing him an open notebook. A teacher in a tight grey hair bun was writing on the board. Students at their seats were chatting, and some looked up at the short dork in red who burst in. For once Roman ignored them, his mind set on one last attempt at wooing his green skirted genius while he still had the nerve.

“Hey, Logan,” he said. “I’ve also got some great layout designs for an Into the Woods set. If you’re interested, maybe we can meet up after school and I can show them to you? Maybe we talk a bit more over iced lattes or something?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Prince, seventh period starts in five minutes,” said the teacher. “Unless you’ve suddenly transferred to my class, I suggest you stop distracting my favorite student and get going.”

“I’ll be gone in just a second,” he said. “Well?”

Logan smoothed the silky fabric of his pink scarf and said, “That sounds optimal, Roman. I’ll meet with you. By the first floor water fountain perhaps?”

Roman grinned. “I shall be counting the minutes.”

“Mr. Prince,” said the teacher with a warning glare.

Roman blew a kiss at Logan and then ducked out of the doorway. Was he embarrassed of himself? Oh definitely. Did he regret it? Absolutely not. He felt ten inches tall.

Now to complete the quest of making it to class in time. He slid off a shoulder strap to unzip his classic Mickey backpack, getting out the notebook and the relevant homework. He found them amidst the mess of spiral notebooks, granola bar wrappers, two textbooks and rainbow sticky notes. But something was missing from his folder.

“Where are those– it should be here.” He could’ve sworn he had his stapled the blocking notes in his folder. No, wait, the last place he saw them was— “Ah shoot! I left them in the tech closet again.”

Under normal circumstances, Roman would’ve grabbed them after school, but the auditorium was locked on weekends. He’d have to wait till Monday to get them and that just wouldn't do! he wanted to show Logan his notes today! I’ll bet David Korins never has these kinds of problems. Okay, okay. Still got four minutes. He could rush to the auditorium, grab the notes, and then head straight to class. I should have enough time, right? Right. Besides it was only Spanish Class, he was already pretty fluent after all those summers visiting his grandparent in Nicaragua. He spent most of class time dreaming up blocking notes anyway.

Despite not being totally convinced by his own argument, Roman immediately turned on his heel and started running in the opposite direction. After a teacher told him no running in the halls, Roman power walked through the halls with a skip in his step and a song in his heart, feeling absolutely gay in both senses of the word. Logan had actually called his idea ingenious! And the way those sharp eyes softened just for him- he would squeal if not for the fact that it would draw too many eyes to him. The halls were still filled with a few stragglers rushing to the last class of the day, and he was already trying not to get caught being late for class.

Now he knew how Maria felt in West Side Story. Y’know, before Act 2. Oh sure, they’d gotten off to a shaky start, but as the Bard’s adage on the course of true love said; and Roman felt it in his gut that this was certainly the start of true love. Not just with brilliant Logan but also with soulful Patton as well. He didn’t know how an awkward geek like him ever got so lucky in the soulmate department…Then again, there was still the matter of Virgil. So maybe not so lucky.

Roman touched his arm, remembered flustered yet flattering purple words. I know they both said Virgil is secretly sweet and I can sympathize with the terrors of closet town, but COME ON! Virgil? Really? That gloomy gladiator? There had to be a mistake in that. After all, Patton liked to see the good in everyone. Logan was much more of a skeptic, but he does seem to have a blind spot with sarcasm. Maybe Virgil was messing with them somehow. Even if he’s not a jerk jock, the guy’s still kind of a creepazoid; with his dark eyes and cheeta-esq gait and those probably huge muscles hidden under that bulky jacket and big hands...

His gay disaster train of thought came to a merciful halt as he reached the auditorium. Roman pushed open the doors, took a pause to breathe in the quiet comfort of this chapel of the arts. Okay yeah, chapel was maybe a little kind for the school’s auditorium which doubled as the drama Club’s rehearsal space/prop closet backstage/Mx Joan’s unofficial office because the school didn’t fund the arts programs enough. Even so this space was Roman’s sanctuary. The place where he could help create magic from the shadows, bring stories of those gone and living to life. Here, Roman found something of a community with his fellow backstagers, glee club losers, and budding thespians (the nice ones). So he loved every squeaky stage plank, every duck taped seat cushion and every speck of dust that floated in the spot lit air like fairies.

Mx. Joan wasn’t around for once, thankfully. Probably in the teacher’s lounge or rendezvousing with the school nurse or something. They were pretty chill and Roman knew he was their favorite student, but the choir director/drama club moderator/music teacher (this school really needs to fix its funding habits) wouldn’t have been too keen on Roman being deliberately late for class.

Roman walked down the aisle and to the side room by the stage. It was originally a janitor’s closet, but their club moderator transformed it into a ‘Crew Only’ Storage Unit… Okay it was still a closet, but with less bleach and more coils. This was where they kept important equipment for semester shows, like the lighting and sound boards, along with other supplies. Roman made a quick mental note to get more gaffer tape later, seeing their supply was low.

He looked through the small pile of scribbled and highlighted sheets with the lighting cues for the spring show. I’ve really gotta get a binder for these…Ah-Ha! Here you are! Roman pulled out the stapled sheets titled ‘Into the Woods Dream Set’ and carefully shoved them into his bag. Perfect timing too. He might just be able to make it to class after—

RIIIIIIIIIIING

“GAH!”

What the heck? He could’ve sworn he was alone in there, but that yelp just now said otherwise. Up close, Roman saw that the curtains were rustling, accompanied by sounds of heavy breathing and moaning, yet not a footstep to be seen or heard.

Holy SHIT, this place IS haunted! I KNEW that backdrop fiasco last semester wasn’t caused by cheap slit plywood. My supplies are the best quality allowance money can buy. Great Macbeth’s bloody knife, I TOLD Kai we should've sprung for a ghost light! Remus always teased him for being superstitious but look who’s laughing now.

He dashed back into the crew closet and grabbed the heavy push broom leaning in the corner. Roman Prince was NOT about to be caught unawares and possessed by the ghost of a disgruntled student without a fight. He would defend his domain of imagination!

Roman slowly climbed the stage steps, wielding his broom like a bow staff, turned the curtain corner where the noises were coming from and was about to release a war cry on the—

“Virgil?”

Roman nearly dropped his weapon at the sight of Virgil Alighieri—star athlete, object of his fears and supposed soulmate—curled in on himself trembling and crying.

His jacket was pulled over his head like a hood, yet Roman could see the tear stained face peeking out from underneath. Virgil’s eyes were squeezed tight, making the dark circles he’d never noticed before more prominent. There was no denying the athlete had muscle but he was more lithe—thin enough for Roman to wonder if the guy ate enough. Virgil’s trembling could rival a chihuahua, shaky hands clutching his knees, and he was clearly in the midst of a bad panic attack.

Roman had built Virgil up in his mind as being like some odd combination of Hades and Ares. The strong silent wolf within his pack of jocks, a surging thunderstorm just waiting for the right nerd to come along and piss him off enough to strike down like the bolt of Zeus.

Someone to be afraid of.

But now? Seeing him in this state, all alone and whimpering like a wounded animal...it broke Roman’s heart.

He set the broom down gently and carefully crouched down in front of Virgil. “Virgil,” he said softly. “Virgil, can you hear me?”

Virgil let out a breathy sob but otherwise didn’t seem to register him. Just how long had he been sitting here like this?

Roman was at a loss for what to do. Sure he knew plenty of people with anxiety but never saw someone having an actual panic attack before. He did know that if he didn’t help the other calm down soon, Virgil was liable to pass out. He’d never wanted to hug someone so badly in his life. Roman tentatively reached out a hand but stopped. What if touching him makes it worse? What if I startle him so badly he actually has a heart attack!? Maybe I should get the nurse. But I can’t just leave him like this.

He caught sight of the colorful soulmarks written on Virgil’s arm. Saw his own harsh thoughts: ’Dios mio, he’s staring right at me—like he wants to punch my face!’ 

Roman took his shame and forged it into steel. I won’t abandon you...my soulmate.

Virgirl’s let out a hiccuped cry, and this gave Roman an idea. Something from back when he was a child. It was probably stupid and a long stretch, but it was all he could think of. He readjusted himself so that he was now sitting right next to Virgil, making sure not to startle him. Roman cleared his throat, then as softly as he could, he began to sing.

“Come stop your crying, it’ll be alright.

Just take my hand, hold it tight.”

Roman one and carefully gentled his hand over Virgil’s. After a moment, he felt a light squeeze, and that encouraged him to keep going.

“I will protect you from all around you.

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

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[ibijau]

The modern xisangyao I’ve been talking about yay /o/ also on AO3 (and big thanks to the xisang discord for listening to my ramblings a while back + providing a lot of ideas for this!)

Lan Xichen hangs the phone and slumps against the back of his office chair. It is unusual enough to catch the attention of his assistant who looks up from his laptop with a concerned noise.

"Something wrong?" Mo Xuanyu asks

Lan Xichen nods weakly. "It was a fake after all." 

Mo Xuanyu immediately understands what he means, and relaxes upon learning it is something he wouldn't count as important. To Lan Xichen though, it is devastating. That painting has been all he's been thinking about for weeks at this point. A lost Nie Huaisang resurfacing is always exciting for the very small circle of people who care about these things. And Lan Xichen cares, of course.

He wrote his thesis on the master, and he has a deal for a book so more people can learn about that forgotten genius. He has been called the leading expert on the Tang era scholar, though it isn't hard when hardly anyone else bothers with him. 

That's why when 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', long thought lost to a fire early in the last century, resurfaced on the market, the buyer turned to Lan Xichen to ensure that it is the real deal. It is well known that there's a staggering number of fake Nie Huaisang paintings out there. One of many oddities about the man’s work, since his fame never rose high enough to be so eagerly copied by other artists of all periods, and his paintings have rarely sold for a price that would justify the attention of skilled forgers. 

Lan Xichen is also trying to write a paper on that, when his book and teaching leave him the time. 

It had been a treat to behold 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe'. There are no known copies of that one, only descriptions which do not do it justice. Lan Xichen could have cried at those delicate lines, fraught with inexplicable melancholy, like a last goodbye to a beloved home. 'Winter moonlight' is the last known work of Nie Huaisang before he dropped off the record, well into his eighties or possibly his nineties, and Lan Xichen did get a sense of finality upon seeing it. It wasn't just a painting, it was a farewell. 

As to its authenticity, Lan Xichen had no doubt at the time. The lines, the subject, the sense of light and darkness, everything was perfectly fitting with the master's other works. It really had to be the lost masterpiece, the culmination of a great artist’s life. Lan Xichen had only recommended further analysis to confirm it, certain that it was the true 'Winter moonlight'.

The painting's owner has just called to explain that the paper is too young by a few centuries. 

Lan Xichen is distraught to say the least. It's not that he is above mistakes, he is only human after all, but he was convinced that this painting was real. 

It's the thing with Nie Huaisang though. Not only has he attracted many counterfeiters over the centuries, they are always forgers of rare talent. 

"Well, that's disappointing," Mo Xuanyu agrees, more out of politeness than anything else. "Not really surprising though. How many fakes does it make this year?" 

"Three. No, two, 'man with rabbits' was tested last month and confirmed as being authentic after all. He painted that one in his youth so his style wasn't quite settled yet, but the paper and ink are right and it does look exactly like that copy they have in Beijin."

Mo Xuanyu rolls his eyes, and turns back to his laptop. 

"I don't know why anyone bothers with that guy's paintings," he huffs, having never shared Lan Xichen's passion for the artist. "Most of the ones we have are fake."

"The estate sale that got us those two fakes also produced several confirmed ones," Lan Xichen protests mildly. “It’s a shame 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe' turned out to be fake, but apparently ‘Mountains longing for snow’ has been confirmed as real, even if it didn’t sell. I’d give anything to have a look at that one too.”

Mo Xuanyu, who clearly lost interest in the conversation the instant he realised it was about an artist Lan Xichen has heard him describe as mediocre at best, turns his full attention back to his laptop when he sound warns him he has a new message.

“Then do that,” he mutters without conviction. “Go have a look or something.”

Lan Xichen stops breathing for a second, and stares at his assistant as if Mo Xuanyu had just handed him the key to the secret of the universe.

It is always a little awkward to contact owners of paintings once they are in private collections, and Lan Xichen has learned the hard way to avoid it. Some collectors are rather defensive, and a few don't want it publicised that they own rare art. But surely the antiquarian who currently holds those works wouldn’t mind letting him have a look? His interest in them, if publicised, could certainly create a ‘buzz’ of some sort in the small community of Nie Huaisang enthusiasts. It is for that sort of things that his little brother has convinced him to get a social media presence after all, so why not use it to his advantage?

Already recovering from his disappointment over 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', Lan Xichen gets to work and starts looking for information about whoever currently holds those unsold paintings. It takes a surprisingly long while, but he eventually discovers that the series of paintings was bought by a man named mister Shanzi, apparently after the death of their former owner whose identity has not been revealed.

It is not the first time Lan Xichen encounters the name Shanzi. The man is a reputed antiquarian and art dealer. Part of his reputation comes from rarely ever being fooled by fakes and copies, and for often being the one to spot lost works from obscure artists. If mister Shanzi was fooled by 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', then Lan Xichen feels a little better for his own mistake. The copy really had to be excellent.

The problem with mister Shanzi being involved is that he is not an easy man to contact. In this digital age, mister Shanzi is an art dealer without an online presence of any sort, though after some probing, Lan Xichen learns from one auction house that in recent years mister Shanzi has hired an assistant, and that young man is slightly less elusive than his employer. Not by much though, and it takes all of Lan Xichen’s persuasion and good reputation to obtain the email of that assistant.

It would be an understatement to say that the assistant in question is unhappy to have had his contact leaked to a stranger. The first email Lan Xichen gets in answer to his painfully polite enquiry is probably the most passive-agressive thing he has ever beheld, and that includes family dinner with his father and his mother’s new girlfriend. 

If it were earlier in his career, if he were a few years younger, Lan Xichen would have given up at that point, fearful to disturb. But he’s learned to fight for what he wants when it is needed, and what he wants, right now, is a chance to look at paintings he will otherwise never see unless by some miracle a museum in the country buys them… and he knows how unlikely that is. Nie Huaisang doesn’t attract the crowds and academics.

Not yet, anyway. Lan Xichen’s book will change that.

And the more of Nie Huaisang’s work he gets to see with his own eyes, the easier that book will be to write.

So Lan Xichen replies to that unpleasant email with an essay detailing his hopes of attracting attention to his work, the possibility that prices might rise in the future, but above all his interest in an artist who deserves to be admired along with more famous names.

To his surprise, it works.

Mister Shanzi’s assistant’s reply states that he also has deep admiration for the forgotten master, and that his employer has a private collection of Nie Huaisang’s works. He is unsure whether mister Shanzi would be willing to show those, since they are stored in his own home, but perhaps an arrangement could be made. Hopefully, Lan Xichen might agree to meet in a few days at a café near the university where he works, so that they can more easily discuss what he would need for his book.

Lan Xichen readily agrees, and the day of their meeting cannot come soon enough.

When it does come, at last, Lan Xichen is almost half an hour early at the café. He tries, at first, to grade some essays from a class he teaches, but quickly finds that he cannot focus on that at the moment. It is ridiculous to be so nervous over this, he’s met with plenty of antiquarians and art dealers before, he’s been invited to check private collections as well, but on that late afternoon, his skin is buzzing with excitement, as if he were on the verge of something extraordinary.

That excitement spikes up when an elegant young man enters the café, browsing the table with searching eyes, only to smile when he spots Lan Xichen. The young man, who might be one of the most beautiful people Lan Xichen has ever seen, quickly gives him a short bow.

“You must be Lan Xichen?” he asks.

Lan Xichen can only nod, and gestures to invite the gorgeous stranger to sit across from him.

"I'm mister Shanzi’s assistant,” the other man says as he takes a seat. “Meng Yao, at your service."